356C 


MISS 

PETTICOATS 


% 


Agatha  Renier 
( ' '  Miss  Petticoats . "  ) 


PETTICOATS 


BY 

D WIGHT  TILTON 


With   Illustrations  by 
CHARLES     H.     STEPHENS 


'"Before  the  judgment  bar  of  God, 
there  is  no  sex  in  sin" 


C.  M.  CLARK 
PUBLISHING  COMPANY 
BOSTON,  MASS.,  U.  S.  A. 

'  9  °  5 


COPYRIGHT 
1902  BY 
C.  M.  CLARK 
PUBLISHING 
COMPANY 


ENTERED  AT 
STAT  10  NE  R  S 
HALL  LONDON 
FOREIGN  COPY- 
RIGHTS SECURED 


RIGHTS  OF 
TRANSLATION 
PUBLIC  READ- 
ING AND 
DRAMATIZATION 
RESERVED 


UMANITY 
is  never  so 
beautiful  as  when 
praying  for  forgiveness 
or  else  forgiving 
another.  When  thou 
forgivest,  the  man  who 
has  pierced  thy  heart 
stands  to  thee  in 
the  relation  of  the  sea 
worm,  that  perforates 
the  shell  of  the  mussel, 
which  straightway 
closes  the  wound 
with  a  pearl." 


2133143 


CONTENTS 

TTbe  JSirtb  of  ambition 


PAGE 

CHAPTER  I 
THE  DEMON  OF  DISCONTENT i 

CHAPTER  II 
AN  ANIMAL  AT  BAY ic 

CHAPTER  III 
IN  THE  CABIN  OF  THE  "  HARPOON  " 19 

CHAPTER  IV 
"Miss  PETTICOATS" 29 

CHAPTER  V 
"  BEAUTY  PROVOKETH  THIEVES  " 40 

CHAPTER  VI 
A  WOMAN'S  INTUITION 51 

CHAPTER  VII 
MEN  OF  GOOD  WORKS •  .  .  63 

CHAPTER  VIII 
TILLY  HAS  HER  SUSPICIONS  ......  75 

CHAPTER  IX 
LOVE'S  GREATEST  TEST 83 

CHAPTER  X 
SOCIETY  AMUSES  ITSELF 94 

CHAPTER  XI 
TWIXT  SMILES  AND  TEARS 106 

CHAPTER  XII 
AT  NEW  MOORINGS 116 

vii 


CONTENTS 


'/BM&  Slinks  aufc  Hrrows 

PAGE 

CHAPTER  XIII 
A  PIRATE  CRAFT  SIGHTED 126 

CHAPTER  XIV 
AN  IDOL  OF  CLAY 135 

CHAPTER  XV 
A  ROLLING  STONE 142 

CHAPTER  XVI 
PHINEAS  SYKES'S  CLAMBAKE 151 

CHAPTER  XVII 
A  SHATTERED  IDOL .       .161 

CHAPTER  XVIII 
"  GOD  ALMIGHTY'S   GENTLEMAN  ''...'..    169 

CHAPTER  XIX 
THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHRISTMAS 178 

CHAPTER  XX 
THE  WHIP  OF  SCORN 190 

CHAPTER  XXI 
THE  PATH  OF  THE  STORM 200 

CHAPTER  XXII 
CAPT.  JOEL  SAILS  AWAY 210 

CHAPTER  XXIII 
A  WOMAN  SCORNED 219 

CHAPTER  XXIV 
AT  HANK  DONELSON'S 227 

CHAPTER  XXV 
SOCIETY  is  SCANDALIZED       .        .       .       .        .       .       .    235 

CHAPTER  XXVI 
MODERN  CHIVALRY 243 

viii 


CONTENTS 


Ube  Bwafcenfng  ot  a  Soul 

PAGE 

CHAPTER  XXVII 
AFTER  FIVE  YEARS 251 

CHAPTER  XXVIII 
THE  PENALTY  OF  FAME 261 

CHAPTER  XXIX 
THE  EMBERS  OF  HATE 271 

CHAPTER  XXX 
A  RIFT  IN  THE  CLOUDS 278 

CHAPTER  XXXI 
FOR  HIGH  STAKES 287 

CHAPTER  XXXII 
A  SIGNAL  OF  DISTRESS  .       .        .       .       ,       .       .       .    297 

CHAPTER  XXXIII 
THE   SKIRMISH   LINE 305 

CHAPTER  XXXIV 
AN  AMBUSCADE 314 

CHAPTER  XXXV 
"  To  FORGIVE  DIVINE  " 323 

CHAPTER  XXXVI 
TIGHTENING  THE  NOOSE 332 

CHAPTER  XXXVII 
THE  MASK  THROWN  OFF 342 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII 
A  NEW  DAWN 35! 

CHAPTER  XXXIX 
A  DEBT  is  PAID «gr 

CHAPTER  XL 
INTO  SAFE  HARBOR 9  ^ 

ix 


ILL  USTR^TIONS 


MISS   PETTICOATS         .         .        .         .   Frontispiece 


<•  SWAYING  IN  THE  AIR  LIKE  A  SCARLET 

VINE." Page  6 


"WITHIN  A  YEAR  YOU  WERE  ALL  I 

HAD." Pages* 


"COME  NOW,   LUCY;    AGATHA'S  A 

GOOD  GIRL."  .         .         .         .        Page  163 


"NOW    GO;     MY     HOUSE    CAN     BE 

YOUR  HOME   NO  LONGER."        .        Page  208 


"YET    NOT    TOO    GRAND   TO     RE- 
MEMBER  OLD   FRIENDS."     .         .       Page  285 

*  "I    SENT   FOR   YOU— TO  BEG  YOUR 

FORGIVENESS."       ....        Page  330 


MISS  PETTICOATS 

Ube  JSfrtb  of  Bmbftfon 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  DEMON   OF  DISCONTENT 

THE  great  bell  in  the  granite  tower  of  old 
Number  One  mill  clanged  out  its  warning 
of  the  noontide  release  to  the  hundreds 
who  toiled  their  lives  away  within  its  walls,  and 
presently  there  poured  forth  from  its  gray  portals 
and  out  between  the  smooth  spaces  of  well-kept  lawn 
to  the  iron  gates  a  swarm  of  men  and  women,  boys 
and  girls,  like  angered  bees  from  a  hive.  Only  from 
this  hive  there  came  no  drones,  for  by  the  grim  sur- 
vival of  the  fittest  only  those  who  could  work  from 
sunrise  to  sunset  and  from  day  to  day,  with  but  one 
gleam  of  blessed  Sabbath  light,  were  given  place  in 
the  vast  home  of  industry. 

Like  bees  too,  these  mill  people  of  Old  Chetford 
were  excitedly  buzzing  about  some  special  thing 
that  had  aroused  their  ire.  That  was  clear  from 
the  broken  bits  of  conversation  that  now  and  again 
rose  above  the  monotonous  humming  of  the  ma- 
jority. 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  Yes,  blast  'em/'  cried  a  burly,  red-faced  weaver, 
as  he  stopped  at  the  gate  to  wait  for  some  of  his 
particular  cronies,  "  they  cuts  us  down  because  the 
market  ain't  strong,  they  say.  Bah !  That's  always 
their  cry  when  they  wants  to  grind  us  out  of  the 
little  we  gets  already.  We  knows  better.  It's  more 
dividends  they're  after,  and  more  dividends  they'll 
get,  whether  our  young  'uns  live  like  pigs  or  not. 
We  ain't  goin'  to  stand  it.  We'll ' 

"  Oh,  you'll  stand  it  right  enough,  Peter  Grimes," 
broke  in  a  tall,  buxom  girl  with  the  flaunting  comeli- 
ness of  an  overblown  peony,  "  you're  too  fond  of 
your  gin  to  want  to  throw  up  your  job.  If  you  men 
had  half  the  spirit  we  girls  have  got,  you'd  have 
struck  long  ago  and  taught  these  people  with  their 
carriages  and  fine  dresses  how  to  behave  themselves." 

"  Ah,"  growled  the  weaver,  his  dull  eyes  lighted 
by  a  glint  of  admiration  in  spite  of  himself,  "  you're 
a  young  idiot,  you  are.  What  do  you  know  about 
it,  anyway?  You  think  more  of  your  Sunday  night 
sparking  down  on  Promontory  Road  than  about  the 
rights  of  labor.  You'd  better  keep  your  mouth 
shut" 

"  What  do  I  know  about  it  ?  "  replied  the  girl 
angrily,  "  I'll  tell  you  what  I  know  about  it.  Didn't 
I  see  that  white-faced  old  Mrs.  Copeland  drive  up 
to  the  gate  an  hour  ago,  and  wasn't  I  called  to  the 
'super's  office  just  afterward  to  be  jawed  about  flaws 
in  my  cloth,  and  wasn't  the  old  skinflint  sitting  there 
talking  to  the  rest  of  the  bosses,  and  didn't  they  stop 
all  of  a  sudden  when  I  came  in  ?  " 

"S'pose  they  did?" 


THE  DEMON  OF  DISCONTENT 

"  Well,  what  happened  in  a  few  minutes  after 
that  ?  Oh,  yes,  you  begin  to  get  something  through 
your  thick  head,  don't  you?  They  posted  up  a  no- 
tice in  the  main  hall  that  seeing  as  they  were  so  poor 
and  we  were  so  rich,  they'd  decided  to  make  a  ten 
per  cent  reduction  in  our  wages  all  around.  Now, 
who's  the  heaviest  stockholder  in  the  mill;  tell  me 
that?" 

The  man's  red  face  flushed  to  a  deeper  hue  as  the 
full  significance  of  this  revelation  dawned  upon  him, 

"  You're  a  smart  girl,  Bess ;  it's  Mrs.  Copeland  as 
has  done  it,  sure  enough.  And  here's  her  hosses 
and  monkey  coachman  comin'  back  after  her.  We'll 
wait  right  here  for  her  ladyship,  and  just  tell  her 
what  a  nice  old  woman  she  is,  and  how  we  all  love 
her." 

On  the  magical  wings  that  rumor  always  wears  the 
news  quickly  went  through  the  excited  crowd  that 
now  surged  around  the  gates.  The  author  of  their 
trouble  was  a  woman;  she  was  rich;  here  was  her 
carriage  with  its  prancing  horses  at  the  curb;  she 
herself  was  coming  out  in  a  minute  or  two.  All  the 
accessories  for  hate  were  before  their  eyes,  and  they 
forgot  their  hunger  and  weariness  in  their  desire 
to  stay  and  share  in  the  denunciation.  The  murmurs 
of  discontent  grew  to  vindictive  snarlings  and  then 
to  loud  threats  of  violence. 

If  the  tall  and  rather  stately  old  lady  who  walked 
briskly  down  the  steps  and  on  toward  the  crowd 
realized  that  she  was  the  object  of  all  this  turmoil, 
she  gave  no  sign.  Her  face  lost  its  customary  se- 
verity as  she  bowed  and  smiled  at  some  of  her  ac- 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


quaintances  among  the  mill  people,  moving  straight 
at  the  mob  as  if  she  expected  it  to  stand  aside  in 
recognition  of  her  birth  and  station. 

Moral  and  physical  courage  in  combination  form 
a  magnificent  and  sometimes  irresistible  fighting 
force,  but  in  a  contest  with  the  mob-mania  they  must 
often  go  down  to  defeat.  So  found  Mrs.  Sarah 
Copeland  as  these  turbulent  waves  of  human  passion 
closed  about  her.  She  had  sometimes  bewailed  her 
own  femininity  as  partially  shutting  her  out  from 
many  of  the  larger  affairs  of  life ;  now  she  knew  that 
it  alone  might  save  her  from  great  bodily  harm.  She 
struggled  on  toward  her  carriage. 

The  yells  of  denunciation,  the  hissing,  the  un- 
lovely epithets  that  were  hurled  at  her  in  full  cry 
by  the  women  hurt  her  pride  more  than  did  the 
physical  indignities.  That  she  should  be  publicly 
reviled  in  her  own  city,  the  city  of  her  ancestors' 
love  and  hers,  was  worse  than  blows. 

"  Give  us  back  our  money ;  give  us  back  our 
money,"  screamed  a  fragile  slip  of  a  woman,  worn 
to  a  shadow  amid  the  everlasting  clangor  of  the 
shuttles. 

"  Yer're  a  pretty  Christian,  ain't  yer  ?  "  roared  a 
fat  and  blear-eyed  slattern,  shaking  a  ponderous  fist 
in  the  aristocratic  face,  "  takin'  the  bread  out  of  our 
children's  mouths,  you  old  miser."  This  woman 
had  no  offspring  of  her  own,  but  she  filled  the  void 
in  her  life  by  an  exceedingly  great  devotion  to  a  cer- 
tain grocery  of  unsavory  repute  in  Old  Chetford. 

"Oh,  yes,"  taunted  the  peony-faced  girl,  "that 

4 


THE  DEMON  OF  DISCONTENT 

nephew  of  yours  is  quite  expensive  now,  isn't  he? 
You  want  to  raise  a  little  something  from  us  to  pay 
his  bills  with,  of  course.  I  know  him,  you  see."  And 
she  laughed  significantly. 

Such  were  some  of  the  solos  in  the  furious  chorus 
of  opprobrium  that  assailed  the  gentlewoman's  ears. 
She  had  ceased  trying  to  find  her  carriage  now,  and 
stood  with  folded  arms  looking  scornfully  at  the 
nearest  of  her  tormentors.  Her  calmness  and  her 
silence  angered  the  crowd  to  desperation.  Violence 
would  surely  be  the  next  vent  to  its  fury. 

Suddenly  the  crowd  in  front  parted  a  little  as  the 
stalwart  figure  of  the  coachman  tore  its  way  to  the 
beleaguered  lady.  It  was  in  just  such  emergencies 
as  this  that  James  found  his  former  career  as  a  prize- 
fighter of  practical  value.  He  was  eminently  re- 
spectable now,  and  never  referred  to  the  decently 
buried  past,  but  as  his  fist  shot  back  and  forth  with 
the  well-trained  regularity  of  a  piston,  he  blessed 
the  memory  of  his  old  master,  Jem  Mace,  and  never 
stopped  to  count  the  victims  he  laid  low. 

Grasping  his  mistress  unceremoniously  around  the 
waist,  James  dashed  back  toward  the  carriage,  sur- 
prising the  mob  into  non-resistance  by  his  prowess 
and  celerity.  He  pushed  the  lady  into  the  vehicle — 
for  which  he  apologized  most  respectfully  afterward 
— and  prepared  to  mount  the  box  and  be  off. 

A  well-directed  stone  from  someone  in  the  crowd 
hit  one  of  the  horses  squarely  on  the  flank.  Both 
animals  sprang  forward  violently,  throwing  the 
coachman  to  the  ground.  With  the  frantic  un- 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


reasoning  of  their  kind  they  swerved  from  the  street 
and  made  directly  for  an  open  space  ending  in  a 
precipitous  bank,  below  which  bristled  an  ugly  array 
of  spiles,  the  remains  of  an  old  pier  now  left  un- 
covered by  the  outgoing  tide. 

As  the  unharmed  but  sadly  disheveled  James 
picked  himself  up  his  quick  eye  saw  at  once  the 
possibilities  of  a  terrible  catastrophe.  He  could  not 
reach  the  horses  himself,  he  knew;  he  could  only 
pray  for  a  miracle  to  happen. 

Then  he  saw  a  young  girl,  whose  flashing  red 
skirts  he  never  afterward  forgot,  dash  out  from  the 
crowd,  plunge  across  the  path  of  the  animals  and 
jump  for  their  heads.  He  closed  his  eyes.  Is  she 
dead,  he  wonders.  He  looks  again.  No,  she  has 
caught  the  bit-rings  of  one  of  the  horses  and  is  cling- 
ing desperately  to  them,  swaying  in  the  air  like,  a 
scarlet  vine. 

And  then — victory!  The  girl's  sheer  weight 
brings  the  animals  to  a  standstill,  panting  and  snort- 
ing with  fear.  A  window  of  the  carriage  is  lowered 
and  a  calm  face  looks  out,  the  face  of  his  mistress, 
who  is  unharmed.  He  goes  to  his  horses  and  soothes 
them  into  a  normal  condition.  Then  he  himself  be- 
comes calm,  and  the  prize-fighter  is  forgotten  in  the 
impassive  coachman. 

The  heroine  of  this  adventure  would  have  made 
her  escape,  but  it  was  not  so  written  by  the  fates. 

"  Come  here,  my  girl,"  said  the  occupant  of  the 
carriage  so  imperatively  that  the  former  could  do  no 
less  than  obey. 

"  Closer  yet,  my  dear.  I  am  very  short  sighted." 
6 


'Swaying  in  the  air  like  a  scarlet  vine." 


THE  DEMON  OF  DISCONTENT 

A  lorgnette  of  gold  was  raised  to  the  gray  eyes, 
and  through  it  was  seen  a  charming  picture. 

"  M'm,  yes ;   a  good  face.     Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Agatha,  ma'am." 

"  Agatha  ?  Well,  Agatha  what  ?  There  is  another 
name,  I  suppose." 

"  Agatha  Renier." 

"M'm,  yes;  a  foreigner,  eh?  Who's  your 
father?" 

"  My  father  is  dead." 

"  Your  mother,  then?" 

The  girl's  bright  face  lost  its  sunny  smile. 

"  She  is  dead,  too." 

"  Well,  in  goodness'  name,  who  is  there?  " 

"  There  is  grandfather  and  me." 

"  M'm,  yes;  where  does  he  live?  " 

"  On  board  the  old  whaler  Harpoon  at  Tucker- 
man's  wharf." 

"  Indeed  ?  A  sailor,  I  presume." 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  Come  closer." 

The  girl,  with  a  little  blush,  yet  in  no  wise  un- 
conscious of  her  own  good  looks,  did  as  she  was 
told. 

"  Yes,  a  really  good  face ;  but  don't  get  vain  over 
it."  The  shrewd  old  eyes  took  in  with  one  swift 
glance  the  shabby  scarlet  skirt.  "  Poor,  I  see.  Yet," 
as  she  noted  the  piece  of  fine  ribbon  that  put  a  dash 
of  color  to  the  dark  hair,  "  yet  proud." 

Agatha  raised  her  glance  valiantly  to  this  strange 
old  lady's.  She  had  lost  all  her  timidity  now,  for 
she  had  been  told  that  she  was  poor  and  proud.  She 

7 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


knew  that  she  was  poor,  and  she  would  show  that 
she  could  be  proud. 

"  My  grandfather  is  a  captain,"  she  said,  with 
all  the  impressiveness  her  youthful  voice  could  sum- 
mon up. 

"  Captain  what  ?  "  asked  the  lady,  curiously  un- 
moved by  the  importance  of  the  disclosure. 

"  Captain  Stewart." 

"  M'm,  yes ;  I've  heard  of  him.  I'll  see  him. 
You've  done  me  a  service  to-day,  my  dear.  You 
must  be  repaid." 

The  girl  flushed  rosily  now,  and  her  pretty  lips 
were  set  firm.  "  Poor  and  proud ;  poor  and  proud," 
was  the  refrain  that  kept  ringing  through  her  very 
soul. 

"  I  don't  want  any  reward,"  she  said  brusquely, 
"  it  was  nothing  that  I  did — nothing  that  anyone 
couldn't  have  done.  But,"  she  continued  with  an 
odd  little  smile,  "  you  may  pay  for  the  tear  in  my 
dress,  if  you  like.  That  will  do  for  me." 

The  aristocrat  gazed  at  the  daughter  of  the  peo- 
ple with  keen  curiosity  for  a  moment.  This  type  of 
working  girl  was  new  to  her.  They  had  generally 
been  obsequious,  grasping,  deceitful.  A  trace  of 
emotion  stirred  a  heart  not  often  given  to  sentiment, 
at  least  of  this  personal  sort. 

"  Tut,  tut,  child,"  she  retorted,  "  you  scarcely 
know  what  you  have  done,  and  you  certainly  do  not 
know  what  you  are  saying.  You  are  in  a  bit  of  a 
huff,  my  dear,  that's  all.  But  lest  you  forget  it, 
I  am  going  to  tell  you  again  that  you  are  ooor  and 

8 


THE  DEMON  OF  DISCONTENT 

proud,   as   proud   as — well,   never   mind.     Home, 
James." 

Furious  with  anger  as  she  was,  Agatha  watched 
the  beautiful  carriage  roll  up  the  street  until  it 
turned  a  faraway  corner  and  was  gone.  Then  she 
slowly  turned  her  steps  back  to  the  mill. 


CHAPTER  II 

AN  ANIMAL  AT  BAY 

AS  Agatha  Renier  walked  back  to  the  scene  of 
the  tumult  that  had  brought  so  startling 
a  vista  of  wealth  and  all  its  possibilities 
before  her,  she  felt  a  great  longing  to  be  done  with 
the  never  ending  tasks  in  the  grim  fortress  of  toil 
she  had  now  known  for  several  years.  She  had  seen 
many  a  fair  and  blooming  girl  transformed  by  the 
pitiless  process  of  work  into  a  pallid  drudge.  Only 
last  night  she  had  looked  into  her  little  round  mir- 
ror at  home  with  a  sort  of  dread  lest  she  herself  were 
going  the  way  of  others. 

"  Tell  me  the  truth,  glass,"  she  had  said,  "  no 
flattery,  mind." 

She  had  laughed,  yet  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  to  find 
how  reassuring  was  the  answering  message  of  the 
shining  circle.  It  had  told  her  that  her  finely- 
molded  oval  face  was  as  delicately  tinted  over  its 
olive  surface  as  ever ;  that  her  skin  was  of  that  satin 
texture  that  speaks  of  perfect  health ;  that  her  brown 
eyes  were  as  limpid  and  brilliant  as  a  pool  on  some 
rocky  ledge ;  that  her  dark  hair  waved  with  its  usual 
saucy  abandon  around  her  low,  smooth  forehead; 
that  her  full  lips  were  of  the  same  hue  as  the  little 
coral  trees  in  her  grandfather's  quaint  cabin-room. 
All  was  eminently,  satisfactory  in  this  regard,  and, 

10 


AN  ANIMAL  AT  BAT 

being  a  very  human  young  woman,  Agatha  had  re- 
joiced in  her  own  beauty. 

"  I'll  do  for  a  while  yet,"  she  had  told  her  mirror 
and  herself.  Why  she  should  not  "  do  "  at  sixteen 
might  perhaps  not  have  been  clear  to  other  auditors ; 
but  Agatha's  was  a  life  that  made  for  a  sadly  brief 
childhood.  In  those  days  of  Old  Chetford's  in- 
dustrial history  babies,  almost,  were  pressed  into  the 
ranks  of  the  providers,  and  as  they  stumbled  on  with 
tired  little  feet,  they  became  old  before  they  were 
fairly  young. 

She  herself  had  not  been  put  to  the  toil  under 
compulsion.  Her  grandfather's  bit  of  property  re- 
alized enough  for  the  two  to  live  upon,  at  any  rate, 
and  the  old  man's  pride  in  the  pretty  child,  with  her 
alternating  moods  of  storm  and  sunshine,  had  made 
him  determined  that  she  should  grow  up  a  "  lady." 

She  went  to  the  public  schools,  where  she  was  the 
delight  and  terror  of  her  teachers.  She  acquired 
knowledge  with  surprising  avidity,  and  with  equal 
aptness  gathered  to  herself  all  the  inherent  mischief 
of  the  schoolroom.  She  invented  the  trick  of  drop- 
ping a  pinch  of  soda  into  some  enemy's  ink-well,  and 
laughed  at  the  horrible  black  eruption  that  would 
flood  the  hated  one's  desk.  The  tender  ministra- 
tions of  the  ferule  chastened  her  spirit  not  at  all. 
Once,  however,  she  was  summoned  before  the  awful 
presence  of  the  "  committee "  for  some  specially 
heinous  breach  of  discipline,  and  only  the  rugged 
eloquence  of  Captain  Stewart  saved  her  from  ex- 
pulsion. 

That  incident  sobered  her  in  a  marked  degree. 
II 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


Blows  upon  the  hand  she  could  endure  with  a  smile, 
and  count  herself  something  of  a  heroine;  but  to  be 
turned  out  of  school — that  would  be  a  public  dis- 
grace and  a  bitter  blow  to  her  pride.  With  that  fear 
hanging  over  her  head  she  managed  to  preserve 
at  least  an  appearance  of  good  behavior. 

When  Agatha  reached  her  thirteenth  year  the 
leaven  of  unrest  began  stirring  within  her.  She  was 
now  old  enough  to  realize  the  poverty  of  her  grand- 
father. There  were  little  girlish  luxuries  she  craved, 
and  she  saw  but  one  way  to  get  them.  That  way 
was  the  common  method  of  the  friends  of  her  vi- 
cinity :  work  in  the  mills.  She  saw  the  visible  bene- 
fits of  such  employment,  without  at  all  appreciating 
the  dull  grind  demanded  as  the  price  of  obtaining 
them.  Her  decision  was  soon  taken. 

There  had  very  nearly  been  a  scene  when  Agatha 
ventured  to  inform  her  grandfather  of  her  resolu- 
tion— as  near  as  the  gentle  old  man's  love  for  the 
girl  would  permit.  In  vain  he  had  protested  that 
they  had  enough,  that  Agatha  would  belittle  herself 
in  such  surroundings,  that  she  would  grow  up  with- 
out education.  She  had  keen  and  ready  answers  for 
every  objection,  and  she  triumphed. 

But  her  view-point  had  been  gradually  changing 
as  she  had  grown  older ;  she  had  caught  glimpses  of 
another  life  up  on  the  "  Hill,"  where  Old  Chetford's 
whale-oil  magnates  had  established  their  noble  man- 
sions, and  where  their  descendants  still  lived  in  the 
luxury  of  great  estates.  She  began  to  hate  the  mill 
as  the  barrier  that,  in  some  indefinable  way,  kept  her 
from  the  better  things  of  existence. 

12 


AN  ANIMAL  AT  BAT 

As  she  went  towards  the  gloomy  old  building, 
thrilling  with  her  recent  experience  and  speculating 
as  to  what  the  strange  old  woman's  last  words  might 
mean,  Agatha  felt  that  her  days  in  the  factory  were 
at  an  end.  She  would  find  something  else  to  do, 
something  that  would  bring  her  into  contact  with 
men  and  women  of  another  class;  and  as  with  her 
a  thing  thought  of  was  as  good  as  done,  her  spirits 
rose  and  she  began  to  sing  snatches  of  a  gay  little 
French  song  she  had  heard  somewhere. 

The  mob  that  had  been  cheated  of  its  fair  game 
was  still  standing  sullenly  around  the  gates  as 
Agatha  approached.  Grimes,  the  weaver,  was 
mounted  upon  a  box  and  was  haranguing  his  fellow 
workers,  so  that  the  girl  joined  the  crowd  practi- 
cally unobserved. 

"  I  tells  yer,"  the  orator  was  shouting,  "  if  we 
don't  do  something  now  we're  slaves  for  the  rest  of 
our  lives.  It's  cut,  cut,  cut  with  these  rich  folks. 
Now  they  cuts  off  our  meat;  bimeby  they'll  cut  off 
our  clo's,  after  that  our  roofs  and  then " 

"Well,  what  then,  Peter?" 

The  question  was  asked  in  a  strong,  rich  voice, 
evidently  trained  to  the  addressing  of  people.  The 
questioner  was  a  young  man  of  middle  height 
dressed  in  gray  tweed,  and  wearing  a  soft  black  hat 
with  a  rather  jauntily  curling  brim.  A  brown  mous- 
tache drooped  over  a  pleasant  mouth,  and  a  pair  of 
clear  blue  eyes  spoke  of  an  honest  heart  and  a  hatred 
of  sham.  A  small  white  necktie  gave  the  new  comer 
a  clerical  appearance  not  at  all  in  keeping  with  his 
general  make-up. 

13 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"Well,  what  then?" 

The  oratorical  Peter  stopped  short  in  his  speech, 
and  nodded  rather  shamefacedly  to  the  man  in 
tweed.  The  others  stood  aside  respectfully  and  al- 
lowed him  to  come  close  up  to  the  improvised  forum. 

"  The  parson,"  went  around  through  the  gather- 
ing, and  with  that  announcement  all  the  turbulence 
of  a  few  moments  before  was  stilled  completely. 

The  Rev.  Ralph  Harding  looked  about  him  for  an 
instant,  his  keen  eyes  picking  out  the  faces  that  were 
familiar.  Then  a  peculiarly  attractive  smile  lit  up 
his  face,  a  smile  as  of  indulgence  for  bad  children. 

"  Now,  then,  Peter,  what's  all  this  rumpus 
about?  "  he  asked  cheerily.  "  I'm  surprised  to  find 
you  mixing  in  any  disturbance,  and  you,  John  Han- 
son, and  you  Margaret  Evans.  Why  all  three  of  you 
were  at  the  reading  room  last  night,  and  a  better 
behaved  trio  I  never  saw.  What's  started  you  into 
mischief  again  ?  " 

"  It  ain't  us  as  has  started  it,"  declared  Grimes 
doggedly,  "it's  the  owners,  Parson.  They've  cut  our 
wages  down  ten  per  cent." 

"  Ah,  that's  bad." 

"  Bad  ?  It's  worse  than  bad,  sir.  They  put  the 
notice  up  half  an  hour  ago." 

"  And  what  happened  then  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,  we  learns  that  old  Mrs.  Copeland  is 
the  one  that's  chiefly  done  it,  and  when  she  came  out 
a  little  while  ago  we  just  told  her  what  we  thought 
of  her,  and  then " 

"  Then  you  stoned  her  horses,  you  idiots,  and 
nearly  killed  her  into  the  bargain.  I  saw  the  whole 

14 


AN  ANIMAL  AT  BAT 


of  it  from  across  the  street.  Do  you  know  who  Mrs. 
Copeland  is  ?  " 

"  We  does,  indeed,  Parson.  She's  rich  and  owns 
a  big  lot  of  stock  in  the  mill." 

"  But  perhaps  you  don't  know  that  she  started 
your  reading  room  and  coffee  house  and  pays  its 
expenses  every  day  in  the  year;  or  that  she  owns 
that  little  hospital  down  on  Water  street,  where  you 
and  your  children  can  be  treated  without  paying  a 
cent.  And  you  stoned  her  horses!  I'm  disgusted 
with  you." 

The  burly  workman  lowered  his  eyes  before  the 
clear  gaze  of  the  minister.  For  the  first  time  in  his 
life  shame  and  regret  were  struggling  within  him 
to  find  utterance.  The  others  looked  sheepishly 
about,  apparently  seeking  some  shelter  from  the  in- 
indignation  of  Mr.  Harding.  Grimes  felt  that  it 
was  incumbent  on  him  to  proffer  an  apology. 

"  Well,  sir,  of  course  we  didn't  know  anything 
about  that,"  he  said,  "  and  bein'  as  them's  the  facts, 
we're  sorry  for  what  we  done.  But  all  the  same, 
our  wages  is  cut,  and  we've  got  to  do  something 
about  it.  It's  hard,  sir,  that's  what  it  is." 

The  clergyman's  heart  relented.  He  had  a  genuine 
regard  for  many  of  these  people,  and  he  well  knew 
the  bitterness  of  some  of  their  lives. 

"  Now,  men — -and  women,"  he  added,  with  a 
courteous  bow,  I  am  going  to  see  what  can  be 
done  about  the  matter.  I  can't  promise  you  any- 
thing, for  it  may  be  that  it  is  a  case  of  reduction  or 
a  shutdown.  I  know  that  these  mills  did  not  pay 
one  cent  of  dividend  last  year;  your  income  from 

15 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


them  was  more  than  Mrs.  Copeland's.  I  don't  be- 
lieve that  the  owners  would  willingly  grind  you  down 
without  reason.  You  must  never  forget  that  they 
are  too  dependent  on  you  to  make  you  their  enemies 
foolishly.  I'll  do  the  best  I  can  for  you,  you  may 
rely  on  that." 

"  We  does  rely  on  it,  sir,  and  thanks  you  hearty," 
and  then  the  weaver  called  for  three  cheers  for  the 
"  Parson,"  which  were  roared  cut  lustily  by  the 
same  throats  that  had  a  little  while  before  been  re- 
viling a  woman.  The  trouble  at  old  Number  One 
was  over,  for  the  present  at  least. 

As  the  minister  turned  toward  the  mill  door  he 
caught  sight  of  Agatha  Renier  behind  one  of  the  gate 
posts  busily  engaged  in  pinning  up  a  long  rent  in 
her  cherished  red  skirt.  It  was  a  very  charming 
sight,  and  if  the  Rev.  Ralph  Harding's  blood  stirred 
somewhat  at  seeing  it,  who  was  there  to  say  him 
nay?  He  was  young  and  he  was  a  man — that  he 
had  always  insisted  upon,  in  the  pulpit  and  out.  It 
had  gained  him  the  reputation  of  being  "  eccentric," 
for  which  he  cared  as  little  as  for  the  natural  ebb  and 
flow  of  the  tide  in  Old  Chetford  harbor.  He  con- 
ceived his  mission  to  be  the  saving  of  souls  and  the 
helping  of  the  body;  and  he  believed  that  whether 
he  did  his  work  in  solemn  black  or  rough  and  ready 
tweed  was  a  matter  of  small  consequence  to  the 
Almighty. 

"  A  brave  girl,  as  I  have  always  thought,"  he 
said  to  himself  as  he  entered  the  mill ;  "  a  brilliant 
girl  and  a  beautiful  one.  God  help  her  to  go  the 
right  way." 

16 


AN  ANIMAL  AT  BAT 

Agatha,  having  finished  her  impromptu  tailoring 
to  her  own  satisfaction,  started  down  the  street  for 
a  walk  during  the  few  remaining  minutes  of  the 
noon  hour.  This  time  she  was  not  unobserved,  and 
the  crowd,  provoked  by  its  mistake  in  the  assault 
on  Mrs.  Copeland,  and  smarting  under  the  rebuke  of 
the  minister,  seemed  determined  to  make  the  pretty 
young  girl  the  scapegoat  for  its  own  misdeeds.  In 
this  the  women  were  the  active  spirits. 

"  Spose  yer  think  yer  a  heroing." 

"  Coin'  to  get  into  company  on  the  *  Hill '  ?  " 

"  Puttin'  on  such  airs,  the  wharf  rat !  Did  yer 
ever?" 

"  Grandpa's  '  Miss  Petticoats  ' !  " 

"  Oh,  Miss  Petticoats ! '  "  came  the  sneering  cho- 
rus, "Ya-ah,  Ya-ah!" 

Amid  such  jibes  Agatha  walked  haughtily  along, 
giving  no  sign  of  the  fire  of  wrath  that  was  being 
kindled  within  her  heart,  until  at  last,  someone  more 
bold  than  the  rest,  seized  her  by  the  shoulder  and 
pinched  the  tender  flesh  viciously.  Then  she  backed 
up  against  the  mill-yard  wall  and  faced  her  tor- 
mentors like  an  animal  at  bay.  There  was  warning 
enough  in  her  compressed  lips,  her  heightened  color 
and  the  nervous  writhing  of  her  fingers,  but  the 
nagging  crowd  was  too  intent  upon  its  business  to 
see  it. 

"  She  put  on  airs,"  cries  one  of  the  girls,  "  why 
she  doesn't  even  know  her  father." 

"  And  as  for  her  mother "  sneers  Bess,  the 

peony-faced,  "  why " 

Before  the  sentence  can  be  completed  Agatha,  in 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


a  fury  of  passion,  springs  upon  the  larger  girl  and 
tears  her  face  till  the  blood  streams  down  her  coarse 
cheeks.  It  is  like  the  darting  of  a  panther  upon  a 
sluggish  beast  of  burden,  and  the  others  retreat  in 
terror.  The  luckless  Bess  falls  on  her  knees  and 
protects  her  face  with  her  arms. 

No  one  else  cares  to  try  conclusions  with  this 
handsome  young  champion  of  her  family  honor,  and 
she  smiles  scornfully  down  on  the  defeated  and 
cowering  Bess,  who,,  sobbing  with  rage  and  pain, 
is  trying  to  mop  up  the  red  rivulets  on  her  cheeks 
and  make  herself  presentable  for  a  return  to  the  mill. 

"  Don't  you  ever  dare  speak  ill  of  my  mother 
again,"  says  Agatha,  then  turns  and  walks  slowly  to 
the  next  corner.  No  one  follows  her. 

Once  out  of  sight  of  her  routed  enemy,  her  re- 
pressed passion  again  bursts  forth  and  angry  tears 
fill  her  eyes.  Then  she  is  moved  by  a  sudden  de- 
termination, and,  turning  her  face  toward  her  float- 
ing home,  she  hurries  thither  as  fast  as  her  feet  can 
carry  her. 


CHAPTER  III 

IN  THE  CABIN  OF  THE  "  HARPOON  " 

THE  most  picturesque  and  interesting  feature 
of  Old  Chetford  at  the  time  of  the  fore- 
going events   was   that   legacy   from   its 
glorious  past,  the  wharves  where  once  flourished 
the  whale-oil  industry.     For  years  they  had  been 
slowly  going  the  way  of  all  things  temporal,  de- 
caying,  withering,   tottering  to   ruins,  or  else  re- 
modeled and  covered  with  tall  and  ghastly  sheds  for 
the  storing  of  prosaic  coal. 

Grass  now  flourished  on  most  of  the  piers  where 
once  the  work  of  many  men  had  coined  fortunes 
from  the  golden  stream  of  the  refining  cauldrons. 
The  rows  of  long  disused  casks  had  become  the  play- 
houses of  children ;  great  iron  pots  lay  around  in  lazy, 
sprawling  attitudes  as  if  enjoying  their  cessation 
from  labor;  clumsy  old  anchors,  whose  flukes  had 
often  caught  the  ground  under  arctic  seas,  rusted 
away  in  solitude  under  the  sun  and  the  storm.  Cats 
and  bats  made  their  homes  in  the  long  low  buildings 
that  had  been  the  pride  and  joy  of  Old  Chetford's 
former  magnates.  But  even  time  could  not  wholly 
destroy  the  dull  odor  of  the  oil-soaked  timbers,  and 
on  pleasant  days  many  an  ancient  tar  wandered 
through  the  deserted  region,  to  dream  of  his  youth 
and  the  stirring  chase  of  the  sperm. 

19 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


The  deep  pathos  of  this  dead  and  gone  regime 
was  found  in  the  abandoned  ships  that  slowly — very 
slowly,  for  they  were  built  of  almost  imperishable 
oak — were  growing  old  at  the  wharves.  A  dozen 
of  these  veterans  of  the  Pacific  were  there  in  all 
stages  of  dismantlement  and  neglect.  The  once- 
famous  names  of  the  Old  Chetford  whaling  fleet 
might  still  be  read  by  careful  scrutiny  of  faded  stern- 
letterings,  while  the  figureheads  of  women,  birds 
and  statesmen,  known  in  their  day  the  world  over, 
yet  clung  to  the  bows  of  the  ancient  barks  in  gro- 
tesque forms  of  decrepitude.  Some  of  the  hulks  still 
boasted  masts  and  spars,  but  from  most  the  service- 
able material  had  been  stripped  away,  leaving  them 
mere  floating  tombs  of  dead  ambitions  and  decayed 
grandeur. 

Tuckerman's  wharf,  although  disused,  and  the  last 
berth  of  one  or  two  of  the  whalers,  was  neither  un- 
kempt nor  decaying.  Evidently  someone's  care  had 
kept  the  planking  in  a  reasonable  state  of  security, 
had  fought  down  the  weeds,  and  had  given  the  ap- 
proach to  the  water  a  fictitious  air  of  the  conducting 
of  business. 

Evidently,  too,  someone  had  expended  a  deal  of 
attention  upon  one  of  the  old  craft  tied  up  at  the 
southerly  side  of  the  wharf  in  order  to  get  the  win- 
ter's sun.  Its  sides  above  water  were  painted  black, 
and  its  deck  was  as  clean  and  fresh  as  if  holystoned 
yesterday.  It  had  no  masts,  but  a  trim  flagpole  was 
fastened  at  the  bow,  and  from  its  top  the  flag  of  the 
Union  fluttered  bravely  in  the  soft  spring  breeze. 

20 


N 


In  the  CABIN  OF  THE  "HARPOON" 

Over  the  companionway  of  the  after  cabin  a  neat 
awning  was  stretched,  and  a  pair  of  comfortable- 
looking  chairs  under  it  spoke  of  human  occupation. 
On  the  stern  the  name  "  Harpoon  "  was  bright  with 
gold-leaf  on  raised  wooden  letters. 

On  this  particular  day  the  chance  passerby  at  the 
head  of  the  wharf  might  have  heard  the  rollicking 
strains  of  an  old  sea  ditty  trolled  forth  with  more 
energy  than  strict  regard  for  harmony;  had  he 
stopped  to  listen,  there  would  have  come  to  his  ears 
the  sound  of  boisterous  laughter  issuing  from  the 
"  Harpoon's  "  companion-way.  The  voices  now  and 
then  cracked,  and  the  laughter  died  away  in  a  wheezy 
chuckle,  like  the  sound  of  the  sea-mew;  but  at  any 
rate  the  noise  was  human  and  distinctly  cheerful  in 
that  place  of  memories. 

So  thought  an  odd  little  man  who  happened  to 
reach  the  entrance  to  Tuckerman's  wharf  just  as  a 
particularly  loud  shout  of  merriment  flung  itself  out 
upon  the  air.  He  stopped  and  listened  attentively. 

The  odd  little  man  was  a  living  enigma.  His  fig- 
ure was  very  small,  trig  and  youthful,  and  his  every 
movement  was  agile  and  boyish.  A  tiny  black  round- 
topped  glazed  hat  was  perched  over  his  chubby  face, 
with  its  rosy  complexion  and  small  features,  and 
he  wore  an  abbreviated  blue  jacket  whose  sleeves 
seemed  perpetually  on  the  point  of  shrinking  up  over 
his  elbows.  His  white  flannel  trousers  were  skin  tight 
until  they  reached  the  knees,  from  which  point  they 
descended  to  his  neat  enamel  shoes  in  a  cataract 
of  baggy  folds.  His  grizzled  hair  was  plastered 

21 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


down  in  the  schoolboy  style  of  half  a  century  ago, 
and  from  this  possession  alone  could  his  age  of  about 
fifty  be  approximately  guessed. 

Hank  Donelson  felt  that  something  unusual  and 
probably  attractive  was  going  forward  in  the  cabin 
of  the  "  Harpoon."  He  walked  slowly  down  the 
wharf,  then  paused.  Shaking  his  head  thoughtfully, 
he  retraced  his  steps  toward  the  street,  when  a  burst 
of  laughter  that  put  to  shame  any  of  its  predecessors 
smote  his  ears.  With  a  strange  little  smile  that  just 
lifted  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  he  turned  for  the  last 
time  and,  running  briskly  to  the  gang-plank  of  the 
"  Harpoon,"  quickly  made  his  appearance  in  the 
cabin. 

A  rousing  chorus  greeted  Hank's  entrance. 
"Ahoy,  there,  shipmate,"  "Hello,  my  hearty," 
"  Drop  anchor,  you  lubber,"  and  other  phrases  of 
the  sea  told  him  how  sincere  was  the  welcome,  and 
as  through  the  fumes  of  tobacco  smoke  Hank's  nose 
could  detect  the  genial  odor  of  grog,  he  was  minded 
to  make  himself  thoroughly  at  home. 

Without  answering  the  salutations  of  his  cronies, 
Hank  walked  to  the  head  of  the  table  where  a  giant- 
framed,  white-haired  old  man  was  sitting,  and,  tak- 
ing a  hitch  in  his  trousers,  stood  at  stiff  salute. 

"  I  begs  to  report,  Cap'n." 

"  Ay,  ay,  Hank,  my  boy,"  said  the  fine  old  fellow, 
"  join  the  mess." 

Whereupon  Hank  proceeded  to  the  pipe  rack 
made  of  whales'  teeth  set  in  the  shell  of  a  huge  sea 
turtle  and  chose  his  favorite  clay.  He  filled  it  with 

22 


very  black  and  damp  tobacco  and  began  to  smoke 
contentedly. 

"  Avast  there,"  roared  a  fat,  oily-faced  tar,  whose 
fringe  of  encircling  white  whiskers  made  him  look 
like  the  astronomical  representations  of  the  sun, 
"  D'ye  think  it's  right,  Cap'n  Stewart,  to  let  the 
young  'un  smoke  ?  "  It  was  Captain  Phineas  Sykes's 
pet  joke  to  treat  Hank  as  a  very  small  boy,  who  was 
allowed  to  mingle  with  his  elders  as  a  special 
privilege. 

A  shout  greeted  this  sally,  to  which  Hank  paid 
not  the  slightest  attention. 

"  And  as  for  grog,"  squeaked  a  weazened  ex- 
whaler  who  rejoiced  in  the  name  of  Artemas  Slick- 
ersley,  and  who  had  been  one  of  the  finest  "  cro's 
nest  "  men  of  his  time,  "  as  for  grog,  why  in  course 
the  boy  ain't  a  goin'  to  get  any  of  that  pizen." 

"  Looky  here,  Artemas,"  retorted  Hank,  "  if  I 
was  so  durned  old  as  you  be,  I'd  set  about  lookin' 
arter  the  salvation  of  my  immortal  soul  instead  of 
settin'  round  drinkin'  rum  and  makin'  fun  of  my 
betters." 

"  Come,  come,  boys,"  protested  Captain  Stewart, 
"  no  quarreling  now,  or  you'll  have  to  up  anchor 
and  scud  off.  But  Hank,  how  happens  it  you're  here? 
Didn't  you  say  yesterday  you  were  going  to  take 
down  a  stove  for  Tilly  to-day?  " 

Tilly  was  Hank's  maiden  sister,  whose  love  for 
her  vicious  old  parrot  was  only  exceeded  by  her  con- 
tempt and  hatred  for  the  "  shiftless  old  gabbers," 
whose  club  was  the  after  cabin  of  the  "  Harpoon." 

23 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


To  Hank  she  was  not  a  pleasant  topic  for  discussion, 
and  he  shifted  uneasily  in  his  seat,  as  if  he  half  ex- 
pected her  grim  face  to  appear  in  the  companion- 
way. 

"  Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  Cap'n,"  said  he  guiltily, 
"  I  did  sorter  promise  to  take  down  that  stove,  but 
Tilly  sent  me  out  to  buy  some  bird  seed,  and  as  I 
was  goin'  along  I  heard  the  boys  down  here,  and — 
and  here  I  am.  Brown  sugar  in  mine,  Cap'n,  thanky, 
and  not  a  very  powerful  lot  of  water." 

At  this  auspicious  moment  Hank,  as  the  newest 
arrival,  was  introduced  to  a  frank  and  hearty  young 
man  who  commanded  a  coasting  schooner  hailing 
from  another  port.  As  the  nephew  of  Captain  Sykes 
he  was  received  with  a  certain  amount  of  respect 
and  consideration,  but  he  was  made  to  feel  that  he 
was  not  and  probably  never  could  be  the  exact  equal 
of  the  men  who  scoured  the  northern  seas  for  whales 
three  long  years  at  a  time. 

"How  do  I  happen  to  be  living  in  this  ship?" 
said  Captain  Stewart,  in  answer  to  the  young  sailor's 
question.  "  I'll  tell  you,  lad.  For  twenty  years  I 
commanded  the  old  '  Harpoon/  and  I  got  to  be  part 
owner  in  her.  Those  were  the  days  when  five  hun- 
dred ships  hailed  from  this  very  port,  and  the  catch 
was  worth  fifteen  million  dollars  a  year.  Think  of 
that,  my  boy.  I  was  in  a  fair  way  to  be  rich,  when 
all  at  once  somebody  struck  the  cursed  kerosene  in 
Pennsylvania,  and  that  was  the  end  on't. 

"  We  couldn't  believe  for  a  while  that  whaling 
had  got  its  death,  and  I  kept  on  in  the  '  Harpoon,' 
till  there  weren't  any  market  nor  any  price  for  the 

24 


In  the  CABIN  OF  THE  "HARPOON" 

stuff  I  brought  home.  'Twas  the  same  with  all  of 
us;  the  whales  got  scarce,  and  the  whalers  got 
scarcer.  Then  the  mills  came  in,  blast  'em,  and  the 
old  oil  firms  were  snuffed  out.  There  weren't  no 
more  to  do,  and  we  quit. 

"  Well,  by  and  by  I  came  in  from  my  last  v'yge 
with  the  good  old  '  Harpoon '  and  tied  up  here  at 
Tuckerman's  wharf.  The  others  took  the  spars  and 
rigging  and  other  stuff  for  their  share  and  I  took 
the  ship,  for  I  loved  her  like  a  wife.  I  made  a  home 
here  for  '  Aggy '  and  me,  and  here,  please  God,  I'll 
stay  till  I'm  piped  to  quarters  up  aloft." 

The  old  man's  voice  trembled  impressively  as  he 
finished  his  little  story,  and  he  made  a  vain  pretence 
of  mopping  his  forehead  to  hide  the  moisture  in  his 
eyes.  Old  Artemas  accurately  took  in  the  situation, 
and  to  relieve  the  emotional  tension  of  the  moment 
gave  the  call : — 

"  Pipe  all  hands  to  grog." 

After  this  order  had  been  duly  carried  out,  some- 
one suggested  a  "  yarn."  Nobody  volunteering,  the 
men  drew  lots  with  some  little  yellow  shells  in  a 
tin  box.  The  smallest  appeared  in  the  big  hand  of 
Captain  Sykes,  and  that  worthy  cleared  his  throat 
vigorously,  took  a  pull  at  his  "  grog  "  and  plunged 
into  his  favorite  story. 

"  Wall,  messmates,  'twas  in  eighteen  fifty-seven 
when  the  good  ship  Mozambique,  of  Nantucket, 
Cap'n  Simms,  master,  was  in  lat'tude  forty-four, 
long'tude  hundred'n  sixty-five  an'  a  half.  We  had 
four  hundred  bar'ls  aboard,  an'  was  headin'  sou', 
sou'east  for  the  Horn,  a-thinkin'  of  home  an'  the 

25 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


babbies,  when  all  to  onst  the  man  in  the  cro'nest 
sings  out: — 

"'Thar  she  blows!' 

"  Then  I  goes  aft  to  the  quarter-deck,  an'  I  says  to 
Cap'n  Simms,  '  Cap'n  Simms,'  says  I,  '  thar  she 
blows.  Shall  I  lower  'er  ?  ' 

"  Cap'n  Simms  says  to  me,  '  Mr.  Sykes,'  says  he, 
*  the  wind's  a  blowin'  right  too  peart,  an'  I  don't  see 
fit  for  to  lower  'er.' 

"  Then  I  goes  for'ard,  an'  pretty  soon  the  man 
in  the  cro'nest  sings  out : 

"  *  Thar  she  blows  an'  belches ! ' 

"  Then  I  goes  aft,  an'  I  says  to  Cap'n  Simms, 
'  Cap'n  Simms,'  says  I,  '  thar  she  blows  an'  belches. 
Shall  I  lower 'er?' 

"  But  Cap'n  Simms  says  to  me,  '  Mr.  Sykes,'  says 
he,  '  the  wind's  a  blowin'  right  too  peart,  an'  I  don't 
see  fit  for  to  lower  'er.' 

"  Then  I  goes  for'ard,  an'  'fore  long  the  man  in 
the  cro'nest  sings  out : — 

"  '  Thar  she  blows,  an'  belches,  an'  breaches,  an* 

SPERM  AT  THAT.' 

"  Then  I  goes  aft,  an'  I  says  to  Cap'n  Simms, 
'  Cap'n  Simms/  says  I,  '  thar  she  blows,  an'  belches, 
an'  breaches,  an'  SPERM  AT  THAT.  Now  shall 
I  lower  'er  ?  ' 

"  Cap'n  Simms  says  to  me,  '  Mr.  Sykes,'  says  he, 
'  blast  your  eyes,  I  told  you  twic't  afore  that  the 
wind  was  blowin'  right  too  peart,  an'  I  didn't  see  fit 
for  to  lower  'er.  But  if  you  want  to  go  on  your  own 
response,  why  lower  'er,  and  be  durned  to  you,' 

"  Then  we  lowers  the  boat,  an'  I  stands  up  in  the 
26 


fn  the  CABIN  OF  THE  "HARPOON" 

bow,  for  I  was  all  creation  on  the  long  dart.  We 
rows  up  to  the  critter,  an'  I  lets  drive,  an'  it  tuk. 

"  Then  we  kills  the  animile,  and  tows  it  back  to 
the  ship.  Thar  on  the  quarterdeck  Cap'n  Simms 
was  a-standin'  with  tears  as  big  as  hickory  nuts 
a-rollin'  down  his  cheeks. 

"  '  Mr.  Sykes,'  says  he,  '  you're  the  best  fust  mate 
that  ever  sailed  on  the  Mo-zam-bique.  In  the  locker 
in  my  cabin  there's  rum,  gin,  whiskey  an'  terbaccker. 
They're  yourn  for  the  rest  of  the  v'yage.' 

"  '  Captain  Simms,'  says  I,  a-drawin  myself  up  as 
haughty  as  a  dook, '  I  don't  want  your  rum,  nor  gin, 
nor  whiskey,  nor  terbaccker.  All  I  want  is  ci-vil-i- 
tee,  and  that  of  the  gol  darndest  cheapest  brand.' ' 

A  roar  of  applause  greeted  Captain  Sykes's  narra- 
tion of  how  he  had  "  put  down  "  Captain  Simms, 
who  had  been  known  in  his  day  as  a  "  hard  man." 
Then  a  song  was  started  to  the  effect  that  although 
Jack  had  "a  gal  in  every  port,  the  home  gal's  the 
one  for  me." 

The  weather-worn  choristers  were  startled  in  the 
middle  of  one  of  their  most  telling  cadences  by  the 
sudden  apparition  of  Agatha  Renier  in  tears  and  a 
torn  dress.  She  dashed  past  them  without  a  word 
and  entered  her  own  little  cabin,  the  door  of  which 
she  shut  with  a  bang. 

The  visiting  mariners  looked  at  each  other  and 
then  at  Captain  Stewart.  Evidently  there  was  to 
be  no  more  jollity  on  the  "  Harpoon  "  that  day. 

Old  Artemas  was  the  first  to  find  words : 

"  Squall,  eh  ?  Better  run  for  port,  hadn't  we, 
Cap'n?" 

37 


MISS  PETTICOATS 

Their  host  nodded.  "  Yes,  messmates,  that's 
about  it.  I'll  have  a  little  patching  up  to  do,  and 
you  wouldn't  care  to  be  here.  Some  other  time 
we'll  finish  that  song." 

The  little  company  dispersed,  only  the  faithful 
Hank  lingering  on  some  pretext,  in  his  great  desire 
to  be  of  service;  but  on  the  gruff  order  to  be  off, 
given  with  an  assumption  of  jovialty  by  the  cap- 
tain, he  too,  disappeared.  The  old  man  sat  down 
in  his  favorite  chair. 

"  Aggy,  dear,"  he  called  gently,  "  come  out  here 
and  see  your  grandfather  a  minute." 

The  door  slowly  opened,  and  the  young  girl  ap- 
peared. Then  with  a  swift  movement  she  threw 
herself  on  her  knees  at  her  protector's  feet,  sobbing 
pitifully. 


CHAPTER  IV 

"  MISS  PETTICOATS  " 

THEY  formed  a  curiously  contrasted  pair, 
this  massive,  white-haired  man  who  might 
have  been  likened  to  a  mountain  crag 
crowned  with  snow,  and  the  lovely  girl,  undeveloped 
as  yet  but  still  giving  pretty  promise  of  rounded 
womanhood.  The  one,  in  his  more  than  threescore 
years  and  ten,  had  seen  many  lands  and  sailed  all 
seas ;  the  other  had  never  ventured  far  from  her  little 
cabin,  and  the  circle  of  her  world  was  enclosed  by 
the  blue  waters  of  Curlew  Bay  and  the  green  up- 
lands around  Old  Chetford. 

Now  as  the  old  man  bent  a  kindly  arm  around 
the  girl's  sob-shaken  figure,  he  gazed  at  her  with  a 
great  tenderness  born  of  long  ministrations.  In  his 
big  heart  had  grown  the  love  that  partakes  of  the 
maternal,  though  never  was  a  manlier  man  than  Joel 
Stewart.  In  his  eyes  often  gleamed  the  fire  of 
righteous  indignation  and  an  indomitable  will,  where 
others  than  Agatha  were  concerned.  The  old  salts 
well  remembered  his  days  on  the  quarter-deck. 

"  Cap'n  Joel  ?  Ay,  a  good  man  to  ship  with  if 
ye're  ballasted  right  an'  keeps  true  to  yer  compass; 
but  a  devil  if  yer  shirks  yer  duty,"  was  what  they 
said  of  him  around  the  wharves  and  offices. 

20 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


Agatha,  with  a  little  petulant  gesture,  shook  off 
the  encircling  arm,  and  seated  herself  on  a  bench. 
Affectionate  as  she  was,  she  had  lately  conceived  a 
distaste  for  "  babying,"  as  she  called  it.  Her  love 
seemed  to  be  kept  more  in  reserve,  just  as  her  eyes 
showed  depths  of  purpose  that  were  not  to  be 
sounded  by  the  ordinary  plummets  of  human  nature. 
She  dried  her  tears  resolutely  now,  and  looked  stead- 
fastly at  her  grandfather. 

Captain  Stewart  had  often  seen  that  look  of 
mysterious  concentration  on  her  face,  and  had  won- 
dered what  it  might  portend,  but  until  to-day  he  had 
never  feared  for  her  future.  Up  to  this  time  her 
childish  griefs,  though  many  and  often  tumultuous, 
had  always  been  banished  by  tender  words  and  com- 
forting caresses.  But  now  her  burst  of  passion  had 
in  it  something  of  maturity,  something  not  to  be 
dispelled  by  a  kiss.  He  realized  that  the  great  and 
wonderful  change  from  girl  to  woman  was  be- 
ginning. 

And  this  change  he  dreaded  with  all  his  heart, 
for  in  the  opening  process  he  thought  he  saw  some- 
thing of  Agatha's  fascinating,  brilliant-minded,  yet 
reckless  and  weak  father.  As  she  sat  gazing  into 
his  eyes,  her  nervously  intertwining  fingers  showing 
the  agitation  she  was  attempting  to  conceal,  the  old 
man  was  sure  he  traced  a  resemblance  to  the  one 
who  had  inspired  the  only  deep  hatred  of  his  life. 
He  shuddered  at  the  discovery. 

Neither  spoke  for  some  time.  "  Come,  come,"  the 
captain  at  last  said  tenderly,  "  what's  the  matter  with 

30 


"MISS  PETTICOATS" 


my  little  girl?     And  a  shower,  too?     Tell  me  all 
about  it,  Miss  Petticoats." 

"  Don't,  grandfather,"  she  returned,  with  a  sud- 
den upflaring  of  passion,  "  not  that  name  to-day." 

"  And  why  not  to-day,  Agatha  ? "  queried  the 
old  sailor  in  much  bewilderment.  "  What  has  hap- 
pened that  your  old  grandpa  mustn't  pet  you  ?  " 

"  They  would  laugh  if  they  heard  you." 

"  They  ?  Who  ?  What  '  they '  is  there  for  us  to 
mind?" 

"  The  girls  at  the  mill.  They  taunted  me  with 
my  red  dress  and  this  ribbon,"  and  she  snatched 
the  dainty  bit  of  silk  from  her  hair  and  threw  it 
impetuously  on  the  floor. 

"  Why,  I'm  sure  they're  very  pretty,"  faltered  her 
grandfather. 

"  Pretty !  "  echoed  Agatha  scornfully,  "  yes,  they 
are  pretty,  but  what  right  have  I  to  wear  them?  A 
'  wharf  rat/  they  called  me." 

"A  wharf  rat?   I  don't  understand." 

"  You  would  if  you  had  heard  them  jeer  at  my 
home — '  water-soaked  old  hulk,'  they  called  it." 

"  But  it  is  our  home,  Aggy,  our  own,"  and  here 
was  the  first  suggestion  of  age  in  the  tremulous 
voice.  "  You  have  been  happy  here,  haven't  you?  " 

There  was  pathetic  anxiety  in  this  question,  an 
appearance  of  dread  lest  he  should  hear  some  ter- 
rible news. 

'  Yes,  oh,  yes,  indeed,"  returned  the  girl  earnestly, 
with  a  lingering  glance  about  the  cabin,  with  all  its 
familiar  nautical  odds  and  ends,  and  into  her  own 

31 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


spotless  little  room  in  the  stern  of  the  ship,  "  who 
wouldn't  be  happy  with  such  a  dear  old  grandfather 
and  such  a  love  as  he  has  for  me."  And  Agatha 
fairly  flew  to  the  old  man,  clasped  his  seamed  neck 
with  her  warm  arms  and  passionately  kissed  his 
silvery  hair. 

Then,  indeed,  the  old  cabin  glowed  with  light  and 
love  and  joy  for  the  big-hearted  mariner ;  he  wanted 
no  better  thing  in  life  than  this  girl's  trust  and 
affection. 

"I  thought  you  were,  my  dear;  I  thought  you 
were,"  he  said,  "  but  I  began  to  fear  just  now.  You 
didn't  care  for  those  taunts?  You  love  the  old  ship 
as  I  do,  do  you  not,  dearie?  " 

Again  Agatha  emphasized  her  feelings  with  a 
kiss. 

"  Then  what  was  it  started  the  storm,  little  one  ? 
Tell  me  all  about  it." 

In  a  few  swift  sentences  Agatha  described  the 
trouble  at  the  mill,  the  attack  on  Mrs.  Copeland,  the 
panic  of  the  horses  and  her  share  in  averting  an  ac- 
cident. As  she  pictured  herself  clinging  to  the  bit- 
rings  and  dangling  before  the  legs  of  the  runaway 
animals,  Captain  Stewart's  lips  muttered  a  prayer 
of  thanksgiving  that  this  day  was  not  to  end  in  the 
blackness  of  despair. 

Then  the  eager  girl,  with  flushed  cheeks  and  spark- 
ling eyes,  told  of  the  rich  old  woman's  attentions  and 
questions ;  how  she  had  said  she  was  coming  to  see 
the  master  of  the  "  Harpoon,"  and  how — most  re- 
markable of  all — she  had  said  that  Agatha  must  be 
rewarded. 


"MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  Not  that  I  wanted  or  would  take  any  reward," 
said  the  pretty  narrator  naively,  "  but  of  course  I 
couldn't  help  wondering  what  she  meant." 

The  story  of  her  return  to  the  mill,  of  the  minis- 
ter's rebuke  of  the  crowd  and  of  the  insults  of  Big 
Bess  was  quickly  related.  Agatha  freely  confessed 
to  the  scratching  of  her  tormentor's  face,  and,  when 
gently  reproved,  spoke  in  broken,  almost  whispered 
accents  of  the  slurs  upon  the  memory  of  her  mother. 

"  And  I  know  I  have  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of 
for  her,  have  I,  grandfather  ?  "  she  concluded  ear- 
nestly. 

"  No,  child,  nothing,"  returned  the  captain 
gravely.  "  Those  who  may  say  you  have  either  do 
not  know  the  facts  or  speak  through  malice.  See 
here,  Agatha." 

Thus  speaking,  the  old  man  took  down  from  one  of 
the  upper  bunks  along  the  side  of  the  cabin  a  beauti- 
ful little  sandal-wood  box,  neatly  inlaid  with  figures 
of  mermaids  and  flags,  the  work  of  his  youthful 
days  on  shipboard.  Even  Agatha  had  never  been 
permitted  to  peep  into  its  mysteries.  Unlocking 
the  casket,  he  drew  out  a  thin  gold  locket,  and  opened 
it. 

"  There  is  the  face  of  your  mother,"  he  said. 

Agatha  gazed  long  and  silently  at  the  miniature 
of  the  fair-haired  young  creature  who  smiled  so  in- 
nocently from  out  her  encircling  gold.  A  world  of 
tender  thought  and  wonderment  dwelt  in  the  daugh- 
ter's deeper  eyes  as  she  kissed  the  picture. 

"  I  knew  she  was  good,"  she  said  at  length,  with 
a  sigh  and  an  affectionate  smile. 

33 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  It  is  for  you  to  keep  now,"  said  the  captain,  "  I 
have  long  cherished  it,  but  it  rightfully  belongs  to 
you.  Never  part  with  it,  and  always  remember  to 
defend  her  name,  as  you  have  done  to-day.  Would 
you  like  to  hear  why  you  may  always  defend  her 
name?  " 

"Yes!" 

Only  one  word,  but  that  word  filled  with  a  depth 
of  intensity  that  told  the  old  man  that  the  hour  had 
struck. 

"  Ever  since  you  were  born,  Aggy,"  he  began 
gently,  "  I  have  known  that  some  day  you  must  hear 
your  mother's  story,  but  from  year  to  year  I  have 
put  off  telling  you,  partly  because  you  were  too 
young  to  grasp  the  full  meaning  of  its  sorrow,  and 
partly  because  I  did  not  wish  to  cast  the  least 
shadow  on  your  happy  girlhood.  But  somehow 
you've  stopped  being  a  girl  to-day,  and  besides 
you've  heard  something  that  makes  it  my  duty  to 
speak. 

"  Twenty-two  years  ago,  my  child,  your  mother 
was  the  light-hearted,  happy  girl  whose  face  you  now 
see.  She  had  never  caused  us  a  single  tear.  She 
was  purity  itself  and  the  soul  of  honor  and  truth. 
All  her  emotions  were  on  the  outside,  for  she  hadn't 
the  depth  of  your  little  heart,  my  dear.  But  she 
loved  us  well,  and  we  were  proud  of  our  child  and 
hoped  for  a  bright  future  for  her. 

"  One  day  there  came  to  Old  Chetford  a  French 
nobleman  who  had  been  driven  out  of  his  country 
for  a  time — Adolph  Renier,  Count  Fornay.  He 

34 


"MISS  PETTICOATS 


was  on  a  visit  to  some  of  his  countrymen  here,  and 
he  brought  with  him  his  son  Frangois.  The  younger 
Renier  was  a  man  of  handsome  person,  gracious 
manners  and  fascinating  ways. 

"  At  some  social  event — for  we  Stewarts  were 
well  considered  in  those  days,  Agatha — he  met  your 
mother,  and  was  charmed  with  her  prettiness  and 
simplicity.  He  pressed  the  acquaintance  in  head- 
strong French  fashion,  and  your  mother — well,  how 
could  she  help  being  attracted  by  such  a  man?  I 
saw  that  she  was  losing  her  heart,  and  determined 
to  put  an  end  to  things  before  it  was  too  late. 

"  I  called  on  the  Count  and  told  him  what  I 
feared.  He  smiled  and  said  that  it  was  only  a  pass- 
ing fancy  on  his  son's  part,  that  it  would  amount  to 
nothing,  and  that  in  any  event  a  marriage  with  my 
daughter  would  never  be  recognized  by  himself  or 
his  family.  I  told  your  mother  a  part  of  this,  and 
entreated  her  never  to  see  him  again. 

"  But  I  didn't  tell  her  all,"  continued  the  old  man, 
with  a  sigh.  "  If  I  had,  she  might  have  been  spared 
much  suffering.  But  then,"  he  added,  with  a  bright 
smile,  "  then  I  shouldn't  have  had  you,  dear. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  didn't  count  on  the  waywardness  of 
young  blood  as  I  should,  for  one  day  I  came  home 
to  find  a  letter  from  your  mother  telling  me  that  she 
and  Renier  had  been  married  over  in  Mill  River.  I 
went  there  and  found  that  everything  was  straight 
and  legal,  and  that  your  mother  was  the  wife  of 
Count  Fornay's  son. 

"  Well,  dear,  I  tried  to  put  the  best  face  on  every- 

35 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


thing  then,  and  when  my  Alice  went  away  to  France 
with  her  husband  I  gave  them  both  Godspeed  and 
hoped  for  good  things  to  come." 

As  this  story  proceeded,  Agatha's  dark  eyes 
glowed  with  the  fire  of  romantic  enthusiasm.  She 
the  daughter  of  a  high-born  father!  This  was 
ample  repayment  for  all  the  little  wretchedness  she 
had  undergone  that  day.  What  an  armor  against 
the  petty  slanders  and  innuendos  of  a  crowd  of  fac- 
tory girls;  she  longed  to  face  them  with  her  new 
knowledge,  but  she  would  bide  her  time.  Some  day 
she  would  speak,  and  the  world,  which  to  her  was 
Old  Chetford,  should  know  her  right  to  mingle  with 
the  proudest  families  of  the  aristocratic  town. 

Thus  the  simple  child  reasoned,  little  dreaming 
of  the  mountains  of  prejudice  that  must  be  removed 
before  a  slander  can  be  brought  to  bay  and  scotched 
in  its  den. 

"  For  a  while  I  got  letters  from  France,"  the  old 
man  went  on,  "  telling  at  first  of  happiness  and  pleas- 
ure. After  a  bit  they  grew  fewer  and  fewer,  and 
those  that  did  come  had  a  tone  of  disappointment 
and  sorrow  that  nothing  could  hide.  Then  they 
stopped  altogether. 

"  About  this  time  I  came  to  live  in  the  old  '  Har- 
poon,' and  for  several  years  after  your  grandmoth- 
er's death  I  was  here  all  alone,  except  for  the  daily 
visits  of  Hank — God  bless  him. 

"  I  was  torn  with  anxiety,  and  wrote  again  and 
again  to  France,  but  no  answer  came.  'Twasn't 
her  fault,  as  I  found  out  afterwards.  Finally  I  de- 

36 


"MISS  PETTICOATS 


termined  to  go  over  myself,  and  find  my  girl.  I 
couldn't  bear  the  terrible  uncertainty  any  longer.  I 
packed  up  a  little  kit,  and  set  the  date  when  I  would 
start. 

"  The  night  before  I  was  to  leave  the  ship — Hank 
had  promised  to  stand  watch  until  I  came  back — it 
was  black  and  stormy,  but  I  paced  the  deck  thinking 
of  Alice  and  wondering  if  I  should  find  her  alive. 
So  near  she  seemed,  even  after  the  years,  that  I 
almost  fancied  I  could  hear  her  call. 

"  '  Father ! '  seemed  to  come  out  of  the  darkness. 

"  I  turned  to  go  below,  a  big  lump  in  my  throat, 
when  again  that  cry : — 

"'Father!' 

"  It  wasn't  imagination,  Agatha.  I  rushed  for- 
ward and  caught  her  in  my  arms — my  dear  girl 
come  back  to  her  old  father  with  her  heart  broken 
and  her  strength  all  gone.  She  fainted  dead  away, 
and  I  brought  her  down  here,  kissing  her  white  face 
and  calling  her  all  her  old  pet  names. 

"  Next  day  she  told  me  everything :  how  her  hus- 
band had  made  a  pretty  plaything  of  her  for  a  time, 
and  then  had  tired  of  her  and  turned  into  his  old 
life  of  dissipation;  how  he  had  neglected  her  and 
had  at  last  openly  insulted  her  by  flaunting  around 
with  a  vile  woman — he  even  brought  her  to  his  home 
once,  the  villain ;  how  he  had  finally  cursed  her  and 
told  her  that  their  marriage  was  not  recognized  in 
France,  and  that  she  was  no  better  than — well, 
Aggy,  I  won't  name  it  before  you.  At  that  she  left 
him  forever. 

37 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  I  swore  by  the  Almighty  that  I'd  go  to  France 
and  kill  him,  but  she  showed  me  how  foolish  it  was 
to  think  such  things,  and  brought  me  back  to  reason. 

"  Six  weeks  after  she  reached  home  you  came  into 
my  life.  Within  a  year  you  were  all  I  had." 

Agatha's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  no  less  at  the  his- 
tory of  her  mother's  ruined  life  than  at  the  pitiable 
appearance  of  her  grandfather.  To  see  that  giant 
frame  shaken  with  emotion  and  that  fine  head  bowed 
with  grief  was  new  and  strange  and  terrible.  She 
would  have  comforted  him  in  her  childlike  fashion, 
but  she  instinctively  felt  that  his  sorrow  would  best 
wear  itself  out 

Presently  his  old  kindly  smile  came  back. 

"  And  so,  '  Miss  Petticoats/  you  know  the  whole 
story  except  how  you  really  got  that  name.  Your 
mother  used  to  fondle  you,  and  call  you  '  Mon  petit 
cceur.'  I  didn't  know  French  then,  and  asked  her 
what  she  meant. 

"  '  My  little  heart,'  she  said,  and  I  laughed  and 
told  her  that  '  Miss  Petticoats '  was  as  near  as  I 
could  come  to  the  jargon,  and  '  Miss  Petticoats ' 
you've  been  ever  since." 

"  And  I — oh,  think  of  it — I  hated  the  name  when 
you  spoke  it  a  little  while  ago,"  said  the  girl  gently; 
"  I  shall  love  it  forever  now  for  her  sake." 

"  And  when  you  grew  old  enough  to  hold  a  needle, 
the  name  seemed  to  fit  you,  for  you  know  how  you 
have  made  clothes  for  yourself  from  your  mother's 
dear  old  finery.  Your  knack  of  making  pretty  things 
was  not  from  your  mother,  for  she  could  never  learn 
to  sew  well." 

38 


"Within  a  year  you  were  all  I  had." 


«  MISS  PETTICOATS 


"Is  it  from— him?" 

"  I  fear  so,  dear,  but  let  us  trust  that  it  is  all. 
You  will  be  a  good  woman,  Agatha  ?  " 

"  If  I  can,"  returned  the  girl  in  musing,  faraway 
tone.  She  was  not  thinking  of  the  future ;  her  whole 
impressionable  soul  was  filled  with  the  romance  of 
the  dead.  She  rose  without  more  words  and  went 
to  her  cabin,  holding  the  precious  miniature  to  her 
heart. 

But  the  captain's  thoughts  were  all  of  the  days  to 
come,  as  he  sat  alone  smoking  a  comforting  pipe. 
The  irrevocable  past  was  buried  long  ago.  Agatha 
was  his  world  now,  and  her  coming  life  a  mystery 
he  dared  not  attempt  to  solve. 

But  of  one  thing  he  was  certain :  the  girl  could 
not  grow  to  womanhood  in  this  fashion.  Some- 
thing must  be  done,  and  the  kindly  old  man  pon- 
dered long  and  earnestly  upon  what  that  something 
should  be. 


CHAPTER  V 
"BEAUTY  PROVOKETH  THIEVES" 

MRS.  SARAH  COPELAND'S  mansion  on 
Bristol  Street  was  one  of  the  notable 
houses  of  a  notable  avenue  of  great  es- 
tates in  which  the  people  of  Old  Chetford  had  an 
intense  pride.  They  had  been  told  that  they  pos- 
sessed the  handsomest  residential  thoroughfare  in 
New  England,  and  they  needed  no  encouragement 
to  believe  it.  Bristol  Street  was  the  main  artery 
of  the  upper  city,  the  channel,  as  it  were,  of  the  blue 
blood  of  the  oil  magnates'  intensely  self-satisfied 
descendants. 

From  the  region  of  cotton  mills  on  the  north  to 
the  tossing  waters  of  Curlew  Bay  on  the  south  it 
stretched  its  long,  beautiful  course,  bordered  on 
either  side  by  deep  lawns,  tree-dotted  and  not  too 
closely  shaven,  rising  gently  to  the  houses  of  stately 
size  and  architecture  that  had  been  built  from  the 
treasures  of  the  sea.  The  whaling  princes  had  be- 
lieved in  room  and  air,  and  most  of  their  holdings 
were  little  private  domains  in  themselves. 

The  street  was  more  like  a  succession  of  country 
seats  than  part  of  a  busy  city,  and  there  was  a  grace 
and  courtliness  of  life  among  the  owners  of  these 
splendid  properties  that  come  by  a  sort  of  divine 


"BEAUTY  PROVOKETH  THIEVES' 

right  with  the  inheritance  of  ancestral  homes  and 
fortunes. 

In  former  days  Bristol  Street  had  merged  on  the 
south  into  Promontory  Road,  a  magnificent  sea- 
scented  drive  of  several  miles  around  a  picturesque 
point  that  stretched  out  into  Curlew  Bay.  On  its 
extreme  tip  was  an  abandoned  fort  of  the  Civil  War 
period  over  whose  grim  ramparts  and  grassgrown 
top  could  be  seen  the  lovely  blue  of  the  Queen  Bess 
Islands,  while,  further  to  the  westward,  the  vision 
lost  itself  in  the  impenetrable  curve  of  the  open  sea. 
Here  was  the  one  fashionable  drive  of  Old  Chet- 
ford  society,  where,  on  pleasant  afternoons,  the  na- 
bobs, their  wives  and  their  daughters  were  wont  to 
bow  ceremoniously  to  one  another  and  thank  provi- 
dence that  they  had  had  considerate  ancestors. 

But  now  the  glory  of  Promontory  Road  had  in  a 
great  measure  departed,  for  straight  across  the 
favorite  path  of  the  rich  had  been  erected  a  barrier 
of  huge  and  bleak  cotton  mills  with  their  attendant 
brood  of  hideous  tenement  houses  and  sorry-looking 
shops.  To  reach  Promontory  Road  the  squalor  of 
factory  life  had  to  be  met  and  passed,  and  the  hatred 
of  the  old  families  for  the  all-conquering  cotton  was 
deep  enough  without  being  intensified  by  actual  con- 
tact. So  the  region  of  the  point  slipped  away  into 
shabbiness  and  neglect,  and  the  few  daring  ones  who 
had  established  residences  on  the  Road,  expecting 
it  to  become  a  fashionable  district,  flew  back  in  a 
panic  to  Bristol  Street  or  into  the  new  residential 
quarter  to  the  westward — anywhere  to  be  rid  of  the 
spectre  of  manufacture. 

41 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


Mrs.  Copeland's  house  was  a  very  fit  abode  for  the 
lady  herself.  It  was  stately  rather  than  beautiful, 
being  built  of  stone  and  having  a  front  of  immense 
granite  pillars,  which,  under  a  dull  sky,  gave  it  the 
appearance  of  a  temple  rather  than  a  dwelling.  The 
half-circle  driveway  was  lined  by  elms  planted  by 
the  lady's  grandfather,  while  a  tall  hedge  of  haw- 
thorn almost  shut  the  beautiful  lawn  from  the  sight 
of  passers-by. 

Back  of  the  house  were  orchards,  graperies,  gar- 
dens and  hothouses,  and  a  stable  built  of  the  same 
solemn  stone  as  the  mansion.  Everything  bespoke 
wealth,  but  wholly  in  the  minor  key;  the  owner 
would  as  soon  have  worn  diamonds  by  daylight  as  to 
have  permitted  any  shrieking  ostentation  about  her 
dignified  premises. 

A  detestation  of  sham  exuberance  was  one  of  the 
chief  articles  in  Mrs.  Copeland's  creed  of  life,  and 
it  was  that  hatred  that  had  led  her  into  the  opposite 
course  of  concealing  kindly  feelings  under  a  rather 
gruff  and  cynical  exterior.  Experience  had  taught 
her  that  the  manifestly  tender  hearted  are  generally 
considered  fair  game  by  impostors,  and,  though  she 
could  well  have  taken  care  of  herself  in  any  event, 
she  did  not  propose  to  court  the  trouble  of  warding 
off  attack  by  inviting  it. 

Her  charity  and  good  works  were  not  of  common 
knowledge  or  public  trumpeting,  for  she  was  not  the 
sort  of  good  Samaritan  who  stops  the  world  by  the 
roadside  to  show  what  he  has  done.  She  gave  to 
deserving  need  in  her  own  way,  and  scarcely  confided 

42 


"BEAUTT  PROVOKETH  THIEVES*' 

to  her  little  finger  when  her  thumb  and  forefinger 
dived  into  her  purse  for  some  helpful  object. 

"  Um,  yes,"  she  would  say  to  her  friend,  the  Rev- 
erend Ralph  Harding,  "  commend  me  to  those  phil- 
anthropists who  frame  their  wills  to  make  a  news- 
paper monument  to  themselves,  who  want  to  es- 
tablish an  everlasting  chorus  of  public  praise  after 
they're  dead.  As  for  me,  I'm  not  going  to  leave 
money  to  help  fat  trustees  get  fatter.  I  shall  give 
what  I  give  while  I'm  alive  and  able  to  see  that  the 
money  goes  where  I  want  it  to.  Those  who  try  to 
help  themselves  I'll  help,  too,  but  no  nutrition  of 
pauperism  for  me." 

The  custody  of  this  unconventional  woman's  large 
property,  hers  partly  by  family  descent  and  partly  by 
inheritance  from  her  husband,  who  had  died  fifteen 
years  before,  was  vested  supremely  and  solely  in 
Sarah  Copeland  herself.  She  had  long  been  versed 
in  all  the  unfeminine  mysteries  of  finance,  and  her 
money  had  grown  like  the  traditional  snowball.  She 
knew  the  stock  market  also,  and  not  to  her  sorrow 
for  she  was  cool,  calculating,  shrewd,  unemotional 
in  all  her  dealings.  Her  operations  were  sometimes 
on  a  scale  that  would  have  astounded  her  neighbors 
of  Old  Chetford,  had  they  been  taken  into  her  con- 
fidence, but  only  Ralph  Harding  knew  much  about 
her  business  life.  They  had  been  thrown  together 
in  charitable  work,  and  from  the  very  first,  the  wo- 
man liked  the  man's  honesty  and  lack  of  cant. 

"  Mr.  Harding  is  the  only  minister  I  know  who 
doesn't  seem  to  imagine  that  he's  the  one  man  who 

43 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


has  actually  been  selected  by  the  Lord  for  the  king- 
dom of  heaven,"  she  once  told  somebody,  who 
promptly  repeated  it,  to  the  great  scandal  of  other 
eminently  devout  clergymen  in  town.  She  liked  him 
because  she  believed  that  conscience  guided  his  con- 
duct of  life  and  not  the  opinions  of  others. 

Shortly  after  noon  of  the  day  that  had  brought 
Agatha  Renier  and  Mrs.  Copeland  together  in  so 
unusual  a  fashion,  a  slim,  fashionably  dressed  young 
woman  ran  lightly  up  the  stone  steps  of  the  house 
in  Bristol  Street,  and  rang  the  bell.  A  hatchet-faced, 
preternaturally  solemn  butler  opened  the  door. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Copeland  in,  John?  "  asked  the  lady. 

"  Not  at  present,  ma'am,  but  she's  expected  soon. 
Will  you  come  in  and  wait?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not.  Tell  her  that  Mrs.  Worth- 
Courtleigh  called,  please/ 

She  turned  to  go,  but  the  sight  of  a  tall,  well-knit 
and  manly  figure  coming  up  the  driveway  evidently 
caused  a  reconsideration  of  her  intent. 

"  On  second  thought,  I  think  I  will  wait,  after  all," 
she  said,  and  entered  the  house.  "  No,  not  there, 
John ;  the  drawing-room  is  so  formal  " — with  a  little 
pretense  of  a  shiver — "  I  prefer  to  wait  in  the 
library." 

"  Very  good,  ma'am,"  returned  the  well-trained 
servant,  with  just  the  suspicion  of  a  shrug  from  his 
thin  shoulders.  With  the  utmost  ceremony  he  ush- 
ered her  into  a  restful,  beautiful  old  room  finished 
in  dark  walnut,  from  whose  walls  looked  down  the 
choice  spirits  of  genius. 

Now  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  was  not  a  literary 

44 


"BEAUTT  PROVOKETH  THIEVES" 

woman,  nor  yet  noted  for  her  love  of  books,  but  she 
picked  up  a  Darwinian  treatise  that  chanced  to  be 
on  the  library  table,  and  began  turning  its  pages 
nervously.  Even  John,  the  butler,  seemed  to  under- 
stand that  she  was  somewhat  out  of  her  accustomed 
sphere,  for  he  asked  with  well-bred  insinuation  as  he 
paused  behind  her  chair: — 

"  Anything  further  I  can  do,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  thank  you.  When  Mrs.  Copeland  re- 
turns, please  let  her  know  that  I  am  here." 

"  I  will  do  so,  ma'am,"  and  the  butler  closed  the 
door  noiselessly,  the  shadow  of  a  smile  flitting  over 
his  gaunt  face.  That  evening  below  stairs  he  al- 
most became  cheerful,  and  avowed  to  his  chosen 
confidant  in  that  region  of  accurate  family  histories 
that  "  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  is  a  reg'lar  deep  'un. 
She  wanted  to  wait  in  the  library  this  afternoon,  in- 
stead of  the  drawring-room.  I  took  a  look  at  the 
book  she  picked  up  and  pretended  to  read,  for  I  allus 
likes  to  know  the  tastes  of  the  aristocracy,  and  bless 
me  if  it  wasn't  upside  down." 

Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh,  having  no  manner  of  sus- 
picion that  her  little  artifice  had  not  been  accepted 
in  toto  by  John,  the  butler,  waited  till  the  door  was 
closed  before  she  threw  the  book  impatiently  upon 
the  table  and  then  arose  to  pace  restlessly  from  fire- 
place to  window  and  from  window  back  to  fireplace 
again. 

She  was  undeniably  a  pretty  picture  in  her  agita- 
tion. Masses  of  reddish  hair  were  piled  high  on  a 
shapely  head  in  the  mode  of  the  period,  and  the 
cream  and  pink  complexion  that  is  the  compensation 

45 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


for  such  tresses  was  saved  from  insipidity  by  a  pair 
of  lustrous  gray  eyes  that  sometimes  darkened  to 
violet.  Her  mouth  was  large,  but  finely  curved, 
and  her  nose  thin  and  well-shaped.  It  was  not  a 
common  face,  nor  was  its  owner  easily  placed  in 
the  catalogue  of  temperaments,  except  that  one 
would  have  readily  believed  that  under  the  stress  of 
emotional  abandon  she  would  go  to  almost  any 
lengths. 

Her  husband  was  a  middle-aged  lawyer  of  sober 
habit  and  judicial  turn  of  mind.  He  had  succeeded 
admirably  as  the  legal  adviser  of  great  corporations, 
and  the  money  he  made  was  freely  turned  over  to 
his  pretty  wife  to  give  her  the  luxuries  she  had  en- 
joyed as  a  girl  and  to  help  her  ambition  to  become 
the  leader  of  Old  Chetford's  fashionable  set  as  Mrs. 
Copeland  was  the  acknowledged  head  of  the 
older  regime.  He  loved  his  wife  deeply,  but  he  was 
too  engrossed  in  his  profession  to  study  her  daily  life 
critically,  even  had  he  been  disposed  to  do  so.  It 
was  enough  for  him  that  she  was  an  ornament  to  his 
home  and  a  woman  much  sought  after  and  admired. 

Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh's  unrest  increased  as  the 
minutes  passed.  "  He  will  surely  come  here,"  she 
said  half-aloud.  Then  she  caught  sight  of  her  own 
fair  reflection  in  the  great  gilded  mirror  over  the 
marble  fireplace. 

"  I  am  not  changed  for  the  worse,  am  I  ?  Of 
course  not,"  she  asked  and  answered  in  the  same 
breath,  as  she  studied  her  features  more  critically. 
She  saw  her  rare  beauty  and  was  satisfied.  How 
could  she  detect  in  her  own  face  that  something, 

46 


•'BEAUTT  PROVOKETH  THIEVES" 

spiritual  rather  than  physical,  that  might  have  been 
called  repellent  ? 

She  heard  a  familiar  step  in  the  hall,  and  with  a 
little  deepening  of  her  rose-leaf  coloring  she  dropped 
into  a  chair. 

The  man  for  whose  coming  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh 
had  waited  with  such  agitation  was  a  fair-haired, 
well-favored  young  fellow  of  perhaps  twenty-four 
or  five,  with  an  aggressive  bonhomie  and  a  rough 
and  ready  style  upon  occasion  that  made  him  popular 
among  his  inferiors.  Being  Guy  Hamilton,  and  Mrs. 
Copeland's  only  nephew,  he  considered  his  status 
in  the  world  as  quite  secure,  and  he  took  that  world 
as  his  own  particular  oyster,  to  be  opened  with  a 
golden  lever.  In  this  process  he  obtained  all  the 
pleasure  that  could  possibly  be  extracted. 

Guy  plumed  himself  very  highly  upon  what  he 
called  his  "  adaptability."  Through  the  rather  gran- 
diose functions  of  the  true  Old  Chetford  aristocrats 
he  could  and  did  move  with  a  species  of  chivalric 
grace  that  was  quite  effective,  especially  with  women. 
He  could  pass  to  the  other  extreme,  and  with  equal 
facility  make  himself  one  of  the  people,  thinking 
their  thoughts  and  sharing  their  amusements — some 
said  dissipations. 

As  he  came  face  to  face  with  Mrs.  Worth-Court- 
leigh in  the  room  he  had  come  to  consider  almost 
his  own,  he  raised  his  brows  in  well-bred  surprise. 
But  his  greeting  was  conventionally  polite. 

"  Why  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh— don't  rise  please 
— I  scarcely  expected  to  find  you  here;  but  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  see  you  anywhere,"  he  said,  with  the 

47 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


smooth  ceremony  habitual  to  him  when  in  the  so- 
ciety of  women  of  his  world. 

The  large  gray  eyes  flashed  fire. 

"  If  it  is  such  a  pleasure,  Mr.  Hamilton,  I  am 
surprised  that  you  have  deprived  yourself  of  it  so 
long.  Since  when  have  you  taken  to  denying  your- 
self any  self-satisfaction,  however  small?" 

"  Come  now,  Lucy,  don't  sneer,  that's  a  good  girl. 
It  hurts  me  and  doesn't  improve  you." 

"  Ah,  you  do  remember  my  name,  after  all !  " 

"  Remember  your  name?  Really,  why  shouldn't 
I  ?  "  he  queried  with  a  light  laugh. 

"  Your  formality,  somewhat  unusual  in  private 
as  you  will  admit,  would  indicate  that  you  had  for- 
gotten, and  forgotten  other  things  beside  a  name." 

"  There,  there,  Lady  Imperious,  be  your  own 
sweet  self,"  and  with  the  flourish  of  a  cavalier  he 
raised  a  little  gloved  hand  to  his  lips  and  kissed  it. 

"  But  Guy " 

"  Now,,  now,  Lucy,  don't  scold.  I'll  admit  I've 
been  beastly  unsociable,  but  the  fact  is  I've  been 
deucedly  busy,  and " 

"  Busy !  You  busy !  "  A  smile  of  scorn,  of  in- 
credulity, of  fast-rising  temper  curled  Mrs.  Worth- 
Courtleigh's  handsome  mouth  into  something  not  at 
all  attractive.  "  I  fear  I  shouldn't  care  to  know  the 
business  you  have  been  engaged  in  for  the  past 
month  or  two." 

"  By  George,"  cried  the  imperturbable  Guy,  "  I 
wish  Parks  could  paint  you  with  that  expression. 
Queen  Elizabeth — royal  wrath — all  that  sort  of 
thing,  you  know." 

48 


"BEAUTT  PROFOKETH  THIEVES" 

"  First  you  neglect,  and  then  you  ridicule  me,'* 
she  retorted  passionately.  "  I — wonder — who— she 
is." 

"  She !  What  she  ?  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 
queried  the  man  in  astonishment,  real  or  affected. 
The  woman  wondered  which. 

"  The  '  she '  who  is  keeping  you  from  me.  If  I 
knew,  I  believe  I'd — kill  her !  " 

Despite  his  rule  never  to  be  troubled  at  anything, 
Guy  felt  a  very  unpleasant  sensation  about  his  heart 
at  the  words  and  the  hardened  features  of  the  woman 
he  had  thought  he  knew  so  well.  Evidently  he  had 
but  just  begun  to  reach  the  depths  of  her  nature. 

"  By  Jove,"  he  said  with  a  low  whistle,  "  I  almost 
think  you  would." 

"  If  I  didn't  actually,"  she  went  on  swiftly,  "  I 
would  figuratively — she  should  be  made  to  suffer." 

"  But  there  is  no  '  she  '  at  all,"  he  protested  earn- 
estly, "  at  least,  no  particular  one.  I  can't  be  a 
woman-hater,  you  know,  and  shun  them  all.  Don't 
you  see  that  it  would  make  you  too  noticeable?  " 

"  What  do  I  care?  "  she  asked  fiercely. 

"  Well,  I  do.  I  must  protect  you,  if  you  will  not 
protect  yourself.  Think  of  the  meddling  fools  who 
would  delight  to  toss  your  name  about.  And  there 
is  Aunt  Sarah ;  when  she  looks  at  me  with  those  eyes 
of  hers  sometimes  I  imagine  she  knows  the  whole 
story.  I  must  conciliate  her.  She  is  especially 
Quixotic  just  now,  and  I  have  to  play  Sancho  Panza 
to  her.  Charming  role  for  Guy  Hamilton,  isn't  it?  " 
he  added  with  a  grimace.  "  But  you  know,  Lucy  " 
—he  changed  his  tone  of  levity  to  one  charged  with 

49 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


all  the  pathos  he  could  summon  up — "  whatever  ex- 
pectations I  have  in  the  world  are  fixed  in  her.  It  is 
only  the  lack  of  money  that  keeps  us  from  never 
parting." 

A  tenderly  wistful  look  softened  the  face  of  this 
woman  who  had  just  been  uttering  the  fiercest 
threats. 

"  If  I  could  only  believe  you,  Guy  Hamilton,"  she 
said. 

"  Don't  talk  of  '  belief '  between  us  two,"  he  re- 
turned soothingly,  "  of  course  you  may." 

"  But  you  have — have  loved,"  and  the  speaker 
seemed  to  choke  over  the  word,  "  so  many  women." 

"  But  that  was  before  I  met  you,"  he  whispered 
tenderly. 

Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  seized  one  of  his  white,, 
handsome  hands  with  both  hers  and  held  it  passion- 
ately to  her  cheek  for  a  moment.  As  for  Guy,  he 
was  on  the  point  of  giving  the  lady  some  further  re- 
assuring token  when  the  sound  of  wheels  was  heard 
on  the  driveway  outside. 

"  Aunt  Sarah,"  said  he,  striding  to  the  door  with 
the  vigorous  alertness  that  was  part  of  his  fascina- 
tion for  women,  "  she's  getting  out  now.  Pull  your- 
self together,  Lucy,  for  she's  got  an  eye  like  a  hawk/' 

He  stepped  into  the  hall,  and  in  another  moment 
the  visitor  heard  his  voice  in  an  almost  caressing 
tone: 

"  Aunt  Sarah,  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  is  waiting 
to  see  you.  She  is  in  the  library." 


CHAPTER  VI 
A  WOMAN'S  INTUITION 

AS  Mrs.  Copeland  entered  her  library  accom- 
panied by  the  solicitous  Guy,  whose  gal- 
lantry toward  his  aunt  was  as  correct  a& 
his  mode  of  dress,  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh's  quick 
perception  noted  that  she  was  not  her  usual  cool  and 
collected  self.  Her  hands  trembled  a  little  as  she 
removed  her  black  bonnet  and  her  mouth  twitched 
noticeably.  After  greeting  her  visitor  with  some- 
thing of  stately  ceremony — she  always  reserved  her 
curt  and  broken  manner  of  address  for  those  she 
liked  and  trusted  the  most — she  rang  for  her  butler. 

"  A  decanter  of  port,  John;  that  '47  in  the  further 
cellar." 

She  drank  a  little  of  the  wine,  and  under  its  genial 
influence  began  the  story  of  her  adventure. 

"  The  brutes,"  exclaimed  Guy  sympathetically  at 
the  recital  of  the  assault  upon  her  by  the  mill  people. 

"  M-m,  well ;  not  quite  that,  I  think.  Do  you  ex- 
pect them  to  draw  fine  distinctions  when  they  are 
confronted  by  the  hard  fact  that  ten  cents  is  to  be 
stripped  out  of  every  one  of  the  few  poor  dollars 
they  grind  from  their  wretched  lives?  How  would 
you  like  to  have  your  allowance  cut  down  a  tenth? 
Perhaps  I'll  do  it  as  a  lesson  in  economics," 

Guy  shuddered  at  the  bare  suggestion,  made  with 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


grim  humor  though  it  was.  Already  he  was 
harassed  by  demands  he  could  not  meet,  and  he  had 
seriously  considered  asking  his  aunt  for  an  income 
"  more  fitting  for  a  man  in  his  walk  of  life,"  as  he 
had  proposed  putting  it. 

In  terse  but  picturesque  style  Mrs.  Copeland  de- 
scribed the  flight  of  the  frightened  horses  and  the 
bravery  of  the  mill  girl  who  had  stopped  them. 

"  Just  think  of  that  slip  of  a  thing  dashing  out 
and  clutching  a  pair  of  runaways  by  the  bit,"  she 
went  on  with  enthusiasm,  "  and  hanging  on  like 
grim  death  till  they  halted!  Of  course  I  called  her 
to  the  carriage  and  had  a  little  talk  with  her." 

"  What  was  she  like  ?  "  asked  the  melodious  voice 
of  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh,  who  had  been  greatly  in- 
terested in  the  story.  "  Was  she  pretty?  " 

"  M-m,  well ;  yes.  Pretty  enough  for  her  own 
good,  I  should  think.  But  that  wasn't  the  chief  thing 
about  her." 

"  What,  then  ?  "  queried  Guy,  in  a  politely  bored 
tone. 

"  Pride.  Hot,  passionate  pride.  The  kind  that 
will  carry  her  to  a  brilliant  future  or  to  destruction." 

"  Destruction,  most  likely,"  observed  Guy,  "  it's 
the  way  of  the  breed,"  and  the  debonair  man  of  the 
world  thought  he  had  good  reason  to  know  whereof 
he  spoke.  The  "  breed  "  was  to  him  a  pretty  species 
of  game  in  whose  preserves  he  thought  himself  en- 
titled to  poach  with  impunity.  If  his  snares  resulted 
in  disaster  sometimes,  there  were  ways  by  which  the 
facts  could  be  kept  from  too  wide  publicity.  He 
believed  thoroughly  in  the  efficacy  of  the  guinea  to 

52 


A  WOMAN'S  INTUITION 

"  help  the  hurt  that  honor  feels,"  and  he  prided 
himself  on  the  fact  that  no  one  could  call  him  par- 
simonious in  dealing  with  such  matters. 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  about  that,"  returned  his  aunt. 
"  Unless  I'm  very  much  mistaken,  that  same  pride 
of  hers  will  bear  self-respect  as  one  of  its  fruits." 

Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh's  animated,  face  showed 
that  this  discussion  was  quite  to  her  liking.  She 
seemed  to  desire  to  continue  it,  which  filled  Guy  with 
impatience. 

"  But  you  say  you  spoke  only  a  few  words  to  the 
girl,"  she  persisted.  "  How  could  you  get  such  an 
msight  into  her  character  in  that  little  time  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  you  belong  to  a  class  of  society  taught 
to  wear  a  mask  to  fit  every  occasion;  you  mustn't 
forget,  however,  that  there  are  those  who  don't  study 
your  books.  On  the  faces  of  the  untutored  you  can 
read  the  soul." 

Guy  swallowed  a  glass  of  wine,  and,  after  a  suave 
apology,  lit  a  cigar.  He  blew  a  ring  or  two  into  the 
air  with  graceful  deftness,  and  then  lazily  returned 
to  the  skirmish. 

"  Not  always  a  safe  guide,  I'm  afraid,  Aunt  Sarah. 
You  remember  that  handsome  servant  I  had  last 
winter.  His  face  was  a  regular  church  certificate  of 
moral  character,  and  I'd  have  trusted  him  with  the 
Bank  of  England.  As  I  didn't  happen  to  have  that, 
all  the  fellow  got  away  with  was  my  new  overcoat 
and  some  silver  souvenirs.  I  repeat  that  it  isn't  safe 
to  judge  by  appearances." 

"  Depends  a  good  deal  on  the  judge,  Guy,"  re- 
torted his  aunt.  "  You  were  never  noted  for  your 

53 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


perspicacity.  And  furthermore  this  girl  isn't  of  the 
common  kind." 

"  Who  is  she?  "  asked  Mrs.  Worth-Courtieigh. 

"  Agatha — something  or  other ;  some  French 
name.  Her  grandfather's  name  is  easier  to  remem- 
ber— Captain  Stewart.  Do  you  know  him,  Guy?" 

"  Yes.  A  fine  old  sea-dog  he  is,  too.  White  hair, 
big  frame,  red  face,  devil  of  a  temper,  but  straight 
as  a  string.  Lives  in  a  ship  at  Tuckerman's  wharf, 
and  hates  the  cotton  mills  as  a  cat  hates  water." 

"  Amen  to  that,"  cried  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Copeland  with  great  decision, 
"  I'm  going  to  see  the  girl  and  her  grandfather,  and 
find  out  what  can  be  done  for  her.  She  interests  me." 

If  Guy  had  felt  little  enthusiasm  for  the  newly- 
discovered  heroine  before,  he  now  hated  her  as  cor- 
dially as  anyone  unknown  to  him  could  be  hated. 
His  aunt's  words  filled  him  with  apprehension.  Al- 
though he  had  never  been  granted  the  happy  privi- 
lege of  seeing  her  will,  he  had  long  regarded  him- 
self as  the  Copeland  heir-apparent,  and  had  managed 
his  affairs  with  that  definite  goal  in  view.  Others  had 
taken  him  at  his  own  valuation,  which  had  smoothed 
his  career  wonderfully.  He  had  no  illusions  as  to 
any  speedy  entrance  to  his  kingdom,  for  he  knew 
that  his  aunt  was  a  vigorous  descendant  of  a  long- 
lived  race.  He  was  content  to  wait  the  dispensations 
of  providence  with  a  calm  fortitude,  buoyed  up  by 
a  liberal  allowance  and  the  privilege  of  doing 
nothing. 

But  this  beast  of  a  girl  that  had  taken 
his  aunt's  fancy  by  storm!  Would  she  become 

54 


A  WOMAN'S  INTUITION 

an  element  in  a  possible  remodeling  of  the 
"  I,  Sarah  Copeland,  being  of  sound  and  dis- 
posing mind "  document  that  was  now  resting 
in  a  vault  at  her  bankers?  He  had  heard  of 
such  cases,  and  he  realized  that  nothing  was  im- 
possible to  a  woman  of  strong  temperament  like 
his  aunt.  He  must  get  to  work  at  once,  he  thought, 
to  combat  any  such  development  of  circumstances. 
He  wondered  which  was  the  best  tack  to  take,  and 
decided  on  the  gently  remonstrative. 

"  Well,  Aunt,"  he  began,  "  I  appreciate  your  good- 
ness of  heart,  as  I  have  cause  to  do,  and  the  girl  may 
be  all  you  think  her,  but  is  it  quite  judicious  of 
you  to  lower  yourself  by  going  into  questionable  lo- 
calities for  charitable  work?  Can  you  not  send  her 
some  little  present  that  will  please  her  fully  as  much 
as  a  visit  ?  " 

"  Lower  myself !  Rubbish !  "  almost  snapped  his 
aunt.  "  Can  a  lady  lower  herself  by  going  down 
to  the  wharves  of  Old  Chetford  on  a  respectable  mis- 
sion like  mine?  How  can  any  good  ever  be  done 
with  such  sentiments  as  those?  If  the  Samaritan 
had  waited  for  the  wounded  traveler  to  come  to  him, 
he  would  never  have  been  immortalized  in  the  New 
Testament.  I  am  going  down  to  see  Captain 
Stewart  at  the  earliest  opportunity." 

He  had  taken  the  wrong  tack  altogether,  Guy  re- 
alized, and  he  determined  to  run  no  risk  of  another 
mistake  to-day.  He  looked  at  his  watch  with  con- 
siderable ostentation. 

"  By  Jove,  I  have  an  engagement  with  Claybourne 
at  the  club  in  ten  minutes,"  he  said,  "  I  must  be  off." 

55 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


And  he  picked  up  his  hat  and  cane  and  sauntered 
into  the  hall. 

"  I,  too,  must  be  going,  Mrs.  Copeland,"  said 
Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  with  a  pleasant  smile.  "  I 
trust  you  will  soon  recover  from  your  adventure. 
Come  and  see  me,  do." 

They  walked  down  the  path  together  and  along 
Bristol  Street  to  the  corner  where  Mrs.  Worth- 
Courtleigh  was  to  turn  on  her  homeward  way,  the 
man  moodily  thinking  of  the  youthful  intruder  into 
his  peace  of  mind  and  the  woman  of  the  one  thing 
that  had  been  uppermost  in  her  heart  for  days.  As 
he  stopped  for  an  instant  to  bid  her  good-by  her 
stress  of  emotion  overcame  her. 

"  Guy,  look  at  me,"  she  cried  passionately. 

He  gazed  into  her  fine  eyes  for  an  instant,  then 
flinched  before  the  absolute  mastery  of  their  search. 
Adept  in  concealment  as  he  was,  he  found  that  no 
man  can  endure  that  kind  of  ordeal  before  the  wo- 
man he  is  deceiving. 

"  Is  there  no  other  ?  "  she  asked  tremulously. 

"  Now  Lucy,  don't  be  silly.  You  will  attract  at- 
tention. Of  course  there  is  no  other." 

With  a  sigh,  half  of  satisfaction,  half  of  doubt, 
she  turned  and  left  him. 

As  he  proceeded  toward  the  club,  with  his  swing- 
ing manly  stride,  Guy  mused  on  the  unpleasant  way 
circumstances  have  of  taking  liberties  with  the  com- 
fort of  mankind. 

"  Confound  Lucy,"  he  thought,  "  who  would  ever 
have  supposed  she  would  kick  up  this  sort  of  a  row 

56 


A  WOMAN'S  INTUITION 

What  in  the  world  would  she  do  if  she  knew  about 
Louise?" 

The  Attawam  Club  was  a  comparatively  recent 
institution  in  the  lives  of  the  wealthy  younger  set 
of  Old  Chetford.  For  years  past  the  shipping  offices 
and  the  Oceanic  Reading  Room  had  furnished  about 
all  the  general  social  intercourse  the  male  inhabi- 
tants of  the  city  had  enjoyed.  But  a  new  generation 
had  sprung  up  that  voted  the  musty  old  rooms  of 
the  latter  venerable  organization  slow  and  boresome. 
So  it  came  about  that  when  the  estate  of  a  former 
merchant  prince  fell  into  the  market  his  fine  old 
residence  was  purchased  and  the  Attawam  Club 
started  upon  its  prosperous  career.  With  the  ad- 
dition of  an  enormous  piazza  for  summer  lounging 
and  the  more  critical  observation  of  whatever  wo- 
mankind might  chance  to  pass  up  Liberty  Street,  as 
well  as  suitable  alterations  inside,  the  Attawam 
members  possessed  a  clubhouse  in  which  they  felt 
legitimate  pride.  A  famous  old  negro  cook  was  in- 
stalled as  chef,  and  the  "  Committee  on  Bar  "  was 
always  composed  of  men  whose  genius  along  liquid 
lines  was  undeniable.  Being  conducted  on  these  ju- 
dicious principles,  the  club  had  sprung  into  im- 
mediate popularity,  and  its  waiting  list  was  a  long 
and  formidable  one. 

When  Guy  Hamilton  reached  the  billiard  room  he 
found  his  friend,  Captain  Claybourne,  idly  practising 
some  fancy  shots  in  which  he  excelled.  The  cap- 
tain was  a  rather  short,  middle-aged  man,  with 
smooth-shaven  face  and  iron  gray  hair  which  he 

57 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


brushed  down  above  his  ears.  He  had  inherited 
some  money  with  which,  by  strict  economy  where 
economy  was  not  visible,  he  managed  to  lead  a  very 
well-ordered  existence.  He  held  himself  aloof  from 
the  hurly-burly  of  life,  and  delighted  to  give  the  im- 
pression of  being  a  philosophical  spectator  of  the 
world  rather  than  a  participator  in  its  activities. 

"  Ah,  dear  boy,"  he  said  in  his  drawling  voice 
in  response  to  Guy's  greeting,  "  Glad  to  see  you  so 
well  set  up  to-day;  I  am,  indeed.  Shall  we  have  a 
little  game — with  spirituous  attachment?" 

"  Anything  you  say,"  gruffly  assented  Guy,  in  no 
very  good  humor  with  himself  or  mankind,  "  only 
I  would  amend  by  requesting  that  we  have  the  '  at- 
tachment '  first." 

This  being  duly  attended  to,  the  game  proceeded. 
But  Guy  was  no  match  for  his  clever  little  antago- 
nist, and  after  a  badly  beaten  half  hour  threw  down 
his  cue  in  disgust  and  dropped  into  a  big  leather 
chair.  He  drew  up  a  little  club-table  on  which  was 
a  siphon  of  soda  and  a  decanter  of  brandy,  and  pre- 
pared to  make  himself  comfortable  for  the  rest  of 
the  afternoon.  The  gallant  captain  took  a  neighbor- 
ing seat. 

"  Claybourne,"  exclaimed  Hamilton  suddenly, 
apropos  of  nothing  they  had  said,  "  do  you  know 
that  women  are  the  devil  ?  " 

The  older  man  looked  benignantly  at  his  friend. 

"  My  dear  boy,  is  that  a  recent  discovery?  Don't 
you  think  it  high  time  you  found  it  out  with  all  your 
experience?  Why  not  learn  the  part  of  wisdom 
and  let  them  alone,  as  I  do  ?  Because  one  of  'em — a 

58 


A  WOMAN'S  INTUITION 

deuced  pretty  one,  too,  they  say — brought  old  Troy 
to  ashes,  is  no  reason  why  a  fellow  should  let  'em 
make  cinders  of  him.  Let  'em  alone,  and  they'll 
let  you  alone,  and  then  you'll  have  a  paradise  with- 
out any  rotten  apples." 

"  Who  talks  of  paradise  in  the  Attawam?  "  asked 
a  clear  and  jovial  voice  as  its  owner,  the  Reverend 
Ralph  Harding,  swung  into  the  room.  His  well- 
knit  figure  and  finely  chiseled  face  gave  him  the 
appearance  of  a  trained  athlete,  and  his  clear  eye 
looked  like  that  of  a  man  used  to  measuring  distances 
as  well  as  souls.  He  wore  a  blue  serge  suit  and  a 
soft  shirt  with  rolling  collar,  beneath  which  flowed 
a  wide,  blue-dotted  tie. 

"  Hullo,  Harding,"  said  Claybourne,  with  more 
than  his  usual  cordiality,  while  Guy  nodded  non- 
chalantly, "  glad  to  see  you.  I  want  someone  worth 
playing  billiards  with.  The  youngster  here  is  de- 
cidedly off  color  to-day.  Paradise,  eh?  Ah,  yes,  I 
was  merely  remarking  how  the  ladies  brightened 
up  this  dull  world  of  ours.  Play  you  a  hundred 
points,  ten  or  no  count." 

"  I'm  yours,"  returned  the  clergyman,  throwing 
off  his  coat  and  selecting  a  cue  with  much  care. 
Then  he  lit  a  cigar  and  puffed  it  appreciatively. 

"  By  Jove,  you're  different,"  muttered  Clay- 
bourne.  And  he  summoned  all  his  skill  toward  the 
vanquishing  of  his  unconventional  opponent. 

As  the  game  progressed  Guy's  mood  brightened 
somewhat;  perhaps  the  gentle  breeze  that  came  in 
through  the  open  windows  laden  with  the  incense 
of  spring  had  a  share  in  the  process;  or,  possibly, 

59 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


the  little  club-table  may  have  contributed  toward 
his  greater  cheerfulness,  which  took  the  form  of 
rallying  the  minister. 

"  Should  think  your  parishioners  would  raise  the 
very  deuce  at  your  coming  up  here,  Harding,"  he 
ventured,  "  club  and  the  cloth  don't  jibe  very  often, 
you'll  admit." 

The  minister  laughed  as  he  made  a  beautiful  and 
difficult  masse. 

"  Well,  I  won't  deny  that  there  was  a  little  warmth 
in  the  breasts  of  some  of  my  people  when  I  joined. 
But  they  soon  found  that  I  preached  just  as  well  and 
helped  just  as  many  poor  souls  as  I  had  before.  In 
fact,  I  think  I  always  do  better  work  after  billiards 
than  at  any  other  time." 

The  subject  of  billiards  and  the  Reverend  Ralph 
Harding  had  been  a  standing  joke  in  the  Attawam 
since  the  memorable  Friday  night  when  the  faithful 
of  the  Third  Congregational  Church  had  assembled 
in  the  vestry  for  prayer-meeting  and  had  awaited 
their  pastor's  coming  in  vain.  At  last  old  Deacon 
Snow  had  arisen  and  declared  that  he  thought  he 
could  find  Mr.  Harding.  A  few  minutes  later  the 
venerable  church-pillar  had  appeared  in  the  billiard 
room  of  the  club  and  remarked  to  one  of  the  players 
gently : 

"  Brother  Harding,  the  meeting  is  waiting." 

The  minister,  in  astonishment,  had  pulled  out  his 
watch.  It  was  nearly  eight  o'clock. 

"  I  declare,  Deacon,  I'd  forgotten  all  about  it,"  he 
answered,  amid  a  general  roar  of  laughter,  "  but  tell 
them  to  wait  until  I  finish  my  run." 

60 


A  WOMAN'S  INTUITION 

To-day,  however,  there  was  nothing  to  mar  the 
clergyman's  enjoyment  of  his  game,  and  he  played 
with  a  sure  touch  and  an  accurate  eye  that  gave 
Claybourne  an  anxious  quarter  of  an  hour,  for  the 
captain,  with  all  his  philosophy,  disliked  defeat  at 
billiards. 

While  the  afternoon  was  thus  wearing  away,  Mrs. 
Copeland  was  at  the  desk  in  her  private  sitting  room 
looking  over  her  accounts  and  business  correspond- 
ence. The  desk  was  a  beautiful  old  piece  of  dull  ma- 
hogany, come  straight  down  from  colonial  days,  and 
everything  upon  it  was  in  scrupulous  order.  Any 
trifling  with  this  sacred  spot  was  keenly  resented  by 
its  owner.  There  was  a  dark  story  in  the  servants' 
hall  to  the  effect  that  a  cat  that  had  once  invaded  its 
precincts  and  upset  a  bottle  of  ink  there,  had  never 
been  seen  again. 

To-day  Mrs.  Copeland  found  unwonted  trouble 
in  going  through  her  papers.  Her  eyesight  seemed 
less  keen  than  usual,  and  she  had  to  call  in  the  help 
of  a  maid  to  read  a  particularly  illegible  signature. 

She  was  compelled  to  confess  that  the  manage- 
ment of  her  large  affairs  was  becoming  a  task  she 
fain  would  lighten.  She  thought  of  Guy,  but  im- 
mediately decided  that  no  help  could  be  expected 
from  him.  His  distaste  for  concentrated  work  would 
render  him  of  little  real  use.  And  could  she  trust 
him  ?  She  disliked  to  say  no,  but  dared  not  say  yes. 
In  her  heart  he  was  a  disappointment,  with  his  idle 
and  careless  style  of  living,  but  he  was  her  only 
sister's  child,  her  one  near  relative,  and  she  kept 
her  feeling  to  herself.  Then,  spite  of  herself,  she 

61 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


was  proud  of  his  popularity  and  his  superficial  bril- 
liancy. But  as  a  business  confidant — it  was  not  to 
be  thought  of. 

"  Bless  me,  it's  past  the  time  for  my  nap,"  she 
cried  as  she  looked  at  the  clock.  "  After  that  I 
shall  be  better  able  to  reason  things  out." 

She  lay  down  on  the  great  horsehair  sofa  and 
threw  a  light  knitted  shawl  over  her  shoulders.  In 
a  few  minutes  she  appeared  to  be  dozing  serenely. 

So  thought  the  maid  who  went  about  on  tiptoe  in 
the  performance  of  some  little  task.  Her  surprise 
was  great  when  from  the  lips  of  the  cold-faced, 
warm-hearted  old  lady  came  this  query  in  a  tone 
of  intense  self-communion : 

"  If  I  am  wrong  about  that  girl,  what  is  the  value 
of  woman's  boasted  intuition  ?  " 


CHAPTER  VII 

MEN  OF  GOOD  WORKS 

IN  the  well-filled  lexicon  of  Mrs.  Sarah  Copeland's 
existence  there  was  no  such  word  as  delay, 
once  a  certain  course  had  been  decided  upon. 
Early  that  evening,  accordingly,  she  went  to  see 
Ralph  Harding  to  learn  from  him  what  he  knew 
of  Agatha  Renier. 

The  minister's  study,  to  which  she  proceeded  with 
ready  familiarity  when  told  by  the  housekeeper  that 
Mr.  Harding  was  out,  but  might  soon  return,  was 
a  room  of  queer  paradoxes,  perhaps  unorthodoxes. 
Tall  and  ponderous  bookcases  with  glass  doors  lined 
one  side  of  the  room,  the  other  being  almost  half 
filled  by  a  big  stone  fireplace,  over  which  a  pair  of 
fencing  foils  was  crossed.  The  mantel  was  orna- 
mented with  a  collection  of  mugs  that  would  have 
done  honor  to  a  German  student  club,  while  still 
higher  up  was  hung  the  beribboned  oar  which  the 
owner  had  pulled  in  a  memorable  race  when  he  had 
stroked  his  university  eight  to  victory. 

In  a  corner  lay  a  varied  pile  of  boxing  gloves, 
Indian  clubs  and  dumbbells,  covered  with  fishing 
lines  and  odd  pieces  of  outing  clothes.  The  broad 
oak  study  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room  boasted 
a  wonderful  array  of  pipes  of  all  varieties  and  social 

63 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


ranks.  The  exquisite  onyx  tobacco  jar  was  the  gift 
of  some  fair  parishioner  who  knew  that  the  day  for 
ministerial  slippers  had  long  passed. 

The  ecclesiastical  element  in  the  apartment  was 
furnished  by  the  rows  of  black-bound  theological 
volumes  in  the  big  bookcases,  although  even  they 
were  separated  into  squads  by  the  gayer  backs  of  the 
poets'  and  the  novelists'  works.  Between  the  front 
windows  hung  a  beautiful  photograph  of  the  "  Ma- 
donna of  the  Chair,"  and  just  at  this  moment  a 
gleam  from  the  setting  sun  came  from  the  open  door 
opposite  and  touched  the  sweet  face  with  a  tender 
radiance.  The  illumined  countenance  seemed  to  raise 
the  whole  incongruous  room  into  the  realms  of  divine 
spirituality. 

"  It's  all  just  like  him,"  thought  Mrs.  Copeland, 
as  she  waited  there  in  the  evening  glow.  "  Tobacco 
jar  holding  down  a  sermon,  fish  hooks  for  book- 
marks in  the  Concordance  and  '  Vanity  Fair '  hob- 
nobbing with  Jonathan  Edwards.  But  he's  a  man," 
she  said  aloud,  "  and  when  a  minister's  a  man  he 
can  make  men  of  others." 

At  this  point  in  Mrs.  Copeland's  reflections  a  little, 
timorous  knock  at  the  door  was  heard,  and  in  answer 
to  the  lady's  summons  to  come  in  a  figure  entered 
quite  in  keeping  with  the  tapping.  It  was  a  wee  scrap 
of  a  girl,  hatless  and  barefoot,  with  great  black  eyes 
and  a  tangle  of  tight  curls  not  often  harassed  by  the 
brush. 

"  Well,  I  declare,"  said  Mrs.  Copeland. 

"  Please,  mum,"  began  the  child,  "  Mrs.  Brown 
sent  me  to  get  a  book  in  here  and  to  tell  yer  that  the 

64 


MEN  OF  GOOD  WORKS 

minister  ain't  a-comin'  home  cos  he's  got  a  meetin' 
down  to  the  Coffee  House." 

"  What  sort  of  a  meeting,  child?  " 

"  They  calls  it  a  meetin'  fer  '  Good  Works/  but  I 
don't  see  nothin'  in  it,  cos  no  works  is  good." 

The  pathetic  pessimism  in  such  a  morsel  of  hu- 
manity interested  Mrs.  Copeland  at  once. 

"  What's  your  name,  little  one?  " 

"  Susy  Brent,  mum,  an'  I  works  in  Number  Two 
mill." 

"  Poor  little  chick.    Where  do  you  live?  " 

"  Nowheres,  mum." 

"  Why,  child,  you  must  live  somewhere." 

"Nope.  Ma  says  we  don't  live;  we  just  don't 
die." 

The  logic  of  this  statement  was  not  to  be  contro- 
verted by  Mrs.  Copeland,  who  well  knew  the  grim 
horror  of  some  of  the  mill  people's  lives.  She  gazed 
at  the  little  girl  for  some  time  in  deep  thought. 

But  Susy,  having  acquitted  herself  to  her  own 
satisfaction,  now  conceived  it  to  be  her  turn  to  act 
as  inquisitor. 

"  An'  who  are  you,  mum?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Copeland — Mrs.  Sarah  Copeland." 

The  morsel  was  abashed,  but  still  not  to  be  turned 
from  her  course  of  investigation. 

"  The  one  wot  lives  on  Bristol  Street  ?  The  one 
wot's  so  rich  ?  " 

"  They  call  me  so." 

The  child  surveyed  the  woman  with  the  critical 
eye  of  precocious  youth.  Then  her  glance  rested  on 
the  costly  gloves  in  which  Mrs.  Copeland  always 

65 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


took  such  pride.  She  pointed  to  the  well-shaped 
hands. 

"  Those;  may  I  just  touch  'em  once?  " 

"Touch  what,  child?" 

"  Those— those  kids." 

"  Why,  what  a — certainly,  little  one." 

The  girl  crept  up  shyly  and  with  almost  devout 
admiration  stroked  the  soft  leather  once  or  twice. 
Then  she  shrank  back  into  her  former  attitude. 

"  Yer  see,  mum,  I  ain't  never  been  so  near  a  real 
lady  before,"  she  observed,  as  if  feeling  that  her  con- 
duct was  odd  and  needed  an  explanation,  "an'  I 
thanks  yer  very  much,  I  does."  Then,  having  pre- 
sented a  slip  of  paper  on  which  was  written  the  name 
of  the  book  the  minister  wanted,  and  having  re- 
ceived it  from  Mrs.  Copeland^  she  vanished  into  the 
gathering  darkness. 

The  Coffee  House  toward  which  Mrs.  Copeland 
now  took  her  way,  was  originally  a  ship  chandler's 
shop  on  the  water  side  of  Harbor  Street.  It  was  the 
property  of  •the  lady  herself,  and  she  gave  it  rent  free 
to  the  organization  of  which  Mr.  Harding  was  the 
head.  And  not  only  that,  but  she  had  borne  all  the 
expense  of  fitting  up  the  interior  and  made  up  any 
deficiency  in  its  running  cost.  With  its  well  selected 
library,  its  reading  room, 'its  recreation  hall  and  its 
tiny  restaurant  where  the  best  of  plain  food  could 
be  had  for  the  lowest  possible  price,  the  Coffee 
House  was  filling  the  lives  of  the  mill  people  and 
sailors  who  cared  to  come  with  delights  they  had 
never  dreamed  of  before. 

Once  a  week  there  was  a  little  talk  on  some  topic 
66 


MEN  OF  GOOD  WORKS 

of  practical  moral  value,  at  which  Mr.  Harding  and 
many  of  his  humble  friends  made  brief  and  pointed 
remarks.  The  subject  for  this  evening  was  thus 
announced  by  a  placard  hung  on  a  big  anchor  near 
the  door  : 


*  "  GOOD  WORKS  "   MEETING  TO-NIGHT.  * 

*  GOOD  WORKMEN   WILL  TELL  * 

*  WHY  * 

*  GOOD  WORKS  PAY.  * 

*  *  *  *          *          *          *          *  * 

Very  bright  and  cheerful  the  Coffee  House  looked 
as  Mrs.  Copeland  turned  into  Harbor  Street,  with  its 
powerful  Liverpool  masthead  light  hung  over  the 
door  and  the  smaller  red  and  green  lanterns  at  either 
side  of  the  entrance.  The  windows  glowed  pleas- 
antly and  the  sound  of  a  strong  voice  could  be  heard 
in  regular  and  agreeable  cadence. 

In  fact  the  meeting  was  well  under  way,  and  Mr. 
Harding  was  talking  to  the  assembled  crowd  of  the 
lowly.  The  recreation  hall  had  been  stripped  of  its 
tables,  and  rows  of  comfortable  chairs  put  in.  Mrs. 
Copeland  took  a  seat  in  the  rear  and  viewed  the  scene 
with  great  satisfaction. 

The  little  audience  that  faced  the  speaker  would 
have  delighted  the  soul  of  a  Dickens.  The  wan  and 
often  hopeless  faces  of  the  mill  people  of  all  ages  and 
sizes  were  relieved  by  the  bluff  and  rubicund  visages 

67 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


of  sailors  who  formed  a  pleasant  leaven  in  this  mass 
of  poverty  and  baffled  aspirations.  Some  had  come 
for  amusement  only,  others  to  jeer  inwardly  if  not 
outwardly,  believing  with  Susy  Brent  that  "  no 
works  is  good."  A  few  had  been  drawn  in  by  a 
liking  for  the  hearty,  humanity-loving  young  min- 
ister and  a  real  wish  to  better  their  conditions.  They 
all,  as  it  chanced,  were  listening  intently,  as  most 
people  did  listen  when  within  reach  of  Harding's 
musical  voice. 

"  My  friends,"  he  was  saying,  "  these  are  practi- 
cal talks  on  practical  matters  by  practical  men.  Men 
who  work  or  have  worked  all  their  lives  will  show 
you  why  good  works  are  the  only  works  worth  while. 
The  meetings  are  not  to  be  religious  except  in  the 
intent  to  make  you  better  men  and  women  and 
children.  The  talks  will  be  short  and  you  can  all 
understand  the  talkers,  for  they  will  say  what  they 
mean  in  simple  words.  They  will  not  be  orators, 
but  I'm  sure  they  will  interest  you.  Between  talks 
there  will  be  music,  and  after  it's  all  over  there  will 
be  a  bite  of  something  to  eat." 

A  ripple  of  applause,  evidently  for  the  final  prom- 
ise, interrupted  the  speaker  at  this  point.  He  smiled, 
for  he  knew  human  nature,  and  he  hdd  seen  the 
raiment-ripping  struggles  of  well-born  citizens  when 
feeding  time  came  at  functions  on  the  "  Hill."  He 
was  willing  to  wager  mentally  that  this  collection 
of  the  humble  would  show  more  genuine  politeness 
and  consideration  for  one  another  when  their  "  bite 
to  eat  "  was  ready. 

The  music  to  which  the  speaker  had  referred  was 
68 


MEN  OF  GOOD  WORKS 

to  be  furnished  by  a  big  orchestrion,  which,  by  a 
stroke  of  prophetic  genius,  he  had  bought  from  a 
circus  that  had  come  to  grief  in  Old  Chetford  the 
summer  before. 

"  You  will  readily  understand,"  he  continued, 
"  that  the  music  and  the  luncheon  are  not  what  you 
are  chiefly  invited  for.  You've  got  to  listen  to  a  few 
little  speeches,  and  you've  got  to  keep  order.  I'm  a 
trifle  touchy  on  that  point.  I'll  have  no  policeman 
loafing  around  here,  but  if  occasion  requires  I'll  be 
my  own  officer." 

In  his  stalwart  activity  the  Reverend  Mr.  Harding 
looked  the  very  incarnation  of  the  church  militant, 
and  his  audience  was  quick  to  see  the  man  of  resolute 
action  behind  the  cordial  exterior.  Had  anyone 
doubted  his  prowess,  Mr.  James  Anderson,  the 
Copeland  coachman,  could  have  furnished  some  per- 
tinent and  interesting  information  as  to  certain  ex- 
ercises with  stuffed  mittens  in  the  stable-loft  behind 
the  parsonage. 

"  And  now,"  said  the  minister,  "  we  are  going 
to  hear  from  a  man  you  all  ought  to  know  and  many 
do  know.  He  is  the  brave  old  whaler,  the  good 
citizen,  the  honest  man,  Captain  Phineas  Sykes." 

The  jolly  and  rotund  sea-dog  was  hailed  with  a 
storm  of  approval  as  he  arose  from  his  seat  and  rolled 
his  way  down  to  the  platform. 

"Hey,  ol'  tarpaulin,"  "Bully  for  Whalebone," 
"  Give  us  Mozambique  "  were  some  of  the  uncon- 
ventional greetings  that  came  from  the  crowd,  to 
all  of  which  Captain  Sykes  paid  not  the  slightest 
heed,  but  cleared  his  throat  with  the  sound  of  a  small 

69 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


fog-horn,  pulled  his  fringe  of  whiskers  and  launched 
his  address. 

"  Messmates  and  landlubbers,"  he  began,  in  a  tone 
he  would  ordinarily  have  used  in  shouting  orders 
during  a  storm  at  sea,  "  I  ain't  goin'  to  spin  yarns 
nor  yet  do  any  sky-pilot  business.  I'm  here  jest  to 
tell  ye  what  I've  found  to  be  the  best  thing  in  my 
toler'bly  long  v'yge  an'  that  is  the  vally  o'  good 
works,  an'  good  works  ain't  in  no  way  possible  with- 
out obejence  to  orders. 

"  When  yer  sure  that  yer  orders  comes  from 
the  quarterdeck  an'  is  all  right,  jest  ye  obey  'em  so 
well  that  yer  messmates  can  see  that  there  ain't  a 
better  man  aboard  ship  then  you  be. 

"  Tain't  allus  easy  to  understand  the  why  an' 
wherefore  o'  orders,  I  know,  mates.  When  I  was 
cabin-boy  on  the  ol'  bark  Henry  Clay  nigh  on  ter 
sixty  years  ago,  there  was  plenty  of  'em  I  couldn't 
see  the  use  nor  the  vally  on.  The  fust  mate  would 
shout  an'  bellow  until  I  thought  he  was  clean  out'n 
his  cocoanut.  But  arter  a  while  the  reefs  would  be 
shaken  out  and  the  sheets  made  fast  to  the  cleats  an' 
belayin'  pins,  and  we'd  scud  away  under  full  sail  at 
a  clip  no  other  durned  whaler  in  them  days  could 
hold  a  candle  to. 

"  I  wants  ter  say  that  ye've  all  got  yer  stations  an' 
duties  on  the  great  ship  o'  life.  Do  whatever  comes 
to  yer,  with  all  yer  heart  an'  soul,  an'  yer'll  be  better 
an'  happy  fer  it  as  sure's  my  name  is  Sykes.  Thankee 
hearty  for  yer  kind  attention." 

"  That's  the  sort  of  thing  that  will  do  good,"  said 
Harding  to  himself,  "  it's  a  breeze  off  the  ocean 

70 


MEN  OF  GOOD  WORKS 

right  into  their  stifling  souls.  I'll  push  it  home  with 
a  tune." 

Accordingly  the  big  orchestrion  began  the  first 
mission  work  of  its  career.  It  had  evidently  not  been 
constructed  with  a  view  to  even  quasi  sacred  use, 
for  its  first  offering  was  a  Strauss  waltz  and  its 
second  Berlioz'  fiery  "  Rakoczky  "  march.  But  what 
it  lacked  in  devoutness  it  made  up  for  in  volume 
and  beauty  of  tone,  and  the  minister  was  not  dis- 
posed to  cavil  at  its  worldliness  as  he  saw  the  evident 
delight  of  his  people. 

And  now  Mrs.  Copeland's  astonished  eyes  beheld 
the  trim  figure  of  her  coachman,  James  Anderson, 
proceed  down  the  aisle  at  a  signal  from  the  master 
of  ceremonies.  It  was  he  beyond  all  doubt,  as  she 
saw  when  he  turned  his  smooth-shaven,  resolute 
face  toward  the  audience. 

"  M-m,  well ;  it's  true  that  wonders  will  never 
cease.  He's  a  good  fellow;  I'll  raise  his  pay  to- 
morrow." Thus  was  virtue  its  own  unexpected 
reward. 

It  was  evident  that  public  speaking  was  not  Mr. 
Anderson's  forte,  but  he  was  "  in  the  ring  "  as  he 
afterward  expressed  it,  and  determined  to  make  a 
good  fight. 

"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  started,  choosing 
his  words  with  great  care,  "  we  all  must  do  good 
work  if  we  want  to  amount  to  anything  in  this  world. 
We're  like  horses,  we  are;  the  free-drivers  get  the 
best  care  and  the  best  food  and  the  plugs  get  the 
wallops  and  the  worst  harnesses.  Of  course  we  can't 
all  be  two-ten  trotters,  but  even  if  we're  draught 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


horses  we  can  be  good  ones  and  be  respected  in  the 
stable.  We — er — that  is — I  don't  know  as  I've  got 
anything  more  to  say." 

"  Go  on,  James,"  said  Mr.  Harding  in  a  whisper, 
"  you're  doing  first  rate." 

"  Well,  as  I  was  saying,  when  we  get  into  the 
ring — the  track,  I  mean — we  want  to  be  always  on 
the  lookout  to  jab  the  other  fellow  on  the  point  of 
the  jaw — no,  no,  to  beat  all  the  other  horses,  and 
to  land  on  his  stomach — that  is,  to  come  in  under 
the  wire,  and  give  the  knockout — well,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  I  may  as  well  admit  that  I  was  a  prize 
fighter  once,  and  when  I  get  excited  all  the  old  lingo 
comes  back  to  me.  But  I  want  to  tell  you,  just  the 
same,  that  good  works  pay,  and  I  know  it." 

"You're  a  liar!" 

The  ex-pugilist's  jaws  set  firm  and  his  fist  clenched 
involuntarily. 

"  Who  said  that?  "  he  shouted. 

"  I  did,"  came  the  answer  in  thick  tones,  as  the 
burly  figure  of  Peter  Grimes,  the  weaver,  rose  from 
a  seat  near  the  door,  "an'  I  mean  it,  too." 

Anderson  started  from  the  platform  in  a  towering 
rage  to  wreak  vengeance  on  his  insulter,  but  quicker 
than  he  had  been  the  Reverend  Ralph  Harding.  Be- 
fore the  men  in  the  audience  had  time  to  become  ex- 
cited or  the  women  to  scream,  the  minister  seized  the 
big  weaver  by  the  coat  collar,  twitched  him  skilfully 
into  the  hall  and,  with  a  supreme  effort  of  strength, 
shot  him  accurately  through  the  open  outside  door 
and  down  over  the  steps,  where  he  fell  in  a  sprawling 
mass  on  the  sidewalk.  Having  thus  amply  justified 

72 


MEN  OF  GOOL>  WORKS 

his  assertion  that  he  would  be  his  own  policeman, 
Mr.  Harding  calmly  walked  back  to  the  platform 
and  reopened  the  meeting. 

After  two  or  three  more  brief  and  picturesque  ad- 
dresses and  a  tune  from  the  evangelized  orchestrion, 
the  "  bite  to  eat  "  was  set  forth  in  a  rear  room,  and 
Mrs.  Copeland  found  an  opportunity  to  speak  with 
the  minister  on  the  subject  that  had  so  filled  her 
mind. 

"  What  do  you  know  of  Agatha — what's  her 
name  ? — the  granddaughter  of  Captain  Stewart  ?  " 
she  asked  with  her  usual  abruptness. 

"  Much  that  is  good,"  was  the  reply.  "  She  is 
refined,  brilliant,  charming — much  superior  to  any 
mill  girl  I  know  of.  Her  unusual  qualities  have  in- 
terested me  for  some  time." 

"  Would  she  make  a  good  secretary  for  me?  Could 
I  trust  her  ?  How  about  her  education  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  would  be  entirely  satisfactory.  She 
was  nearly  through  the  grammar  school  when  she 
went  into  the  mill,  and  she  has  read  and  studied  a 
great  deal  since.  As  for  trusting  her — well,  I'd 
trust  her." 

'  That's  enough,"  said  Mrs.  Copeland. 

"  But  I  doubt,"  the  minister  continued  thought- 
fully, "  whether  she  would  accept  anything  that  sa- 
vored of  patronage." 

"  I'll  smooth  over  all  those  little  matters,"  said  the 
lady  with  a  smile,  "  besides  in  a  year's  time  she  will 
be  made  valuable  to  me  if  education  will  do  it." 

Then  she  went  home  under  the  escort  of  her  coach- 
man, who  was  secretly  rather  annoyed  at  the  honor, 

73 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


for  he  had  hoped  he  might  meet  Peter  Grimes  on 
the  way  and  have  the  pleasure  of  landing  his  left 
on  some  susceptible  portion  of  that  public  disturber's 
anatomy. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

• 

TILLY   HAS   HER  SUSPICIONS 

NATURE  was  in  her  most  tender  and  caress- 
ing mood  as  Mrs.  Copeland  went  forth 
next  morning  in  search  of  the  good  ship 
''  Harpoon."  Birds  were  madly  attempting  to  sing 
one  another  down  in  the  noble  elms  of  Bristol  Street ; 
the  air  was  fresh  and  laden  with  the  balm  of  the 
young  season;  dandelions  and  violets  and  lilies  of 
the  valley  ran  riot  along  the  street  edges  of  the 
lawns  in  the  far-famed  Old  Chetford  fashion,  and 
all  life  seemed  to  share  the  subtle  intoxication  of  the 
drink  of  May. 

Mrs.  Copeland  herself  felt  great  buoyancy  and  a 
hope  for  the  future.  A  serene  night's  rest  had 
strengthened  her  determination  in  regard  to  the  girl, 
and  the  good  report  made  by  Mr.  Harding  was  now 
added  to  her  own  strong  bias  in  Agatha's  favor. 
She  was  about  to  pass  the  Rubicon,  she  knew,  and 
she  gloried  in  every  firm  step  that  drew  nearer  that 
plunge. 

Even  the  harking-back  of  memory,  as  she  passed 
many  an  object  dear  to  her  younger  womanhood, 
was  wholly  lacking  in  that  melancholy  that  often 
makes  the  mature  woman  weep  for  the  child  who 
was  herself. 

She  smiled  almost  gaily  ^s  she  went  by  the  ancient 

75 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


drab  Friends'  meeting-house  on  April  Street,  its 
square-cut  dignity  trying  bravely  to  seem  uncon- 
cerned at  its  evident  loss  of  prestige.  Time  was 
when  on  "  Seventh  Day  "  the  rich  and  powerful  of 
Old  Chetford  used  to  throng  to  the  spot  in  the  sober 
gray  so  little  indicative  of  their  solid  bank  accounts. 
In  the  little  semi-detached  vestry  Mrs.  Copeland 
herself  had  once  attended  a  famous  school  kept  by 
a  pretty  Quakeress,  whose  discipline  had  been  in  in- 
verse ratio  to  her  beauty.  Now  the  yard  was  dusty 
and  unkempt,  the  horse-shed  abandoned  and  the 
meeting-house  itself  almost  shabby. 

As  she  neared  Harbor  Street,  she  looked  up  with 
reminiscent  affection  to  a  little  hall  over  a  grocery 
store.  There  she  had  learned  to  dance  under  one  of 
the  Papantis  from  Boston,  and  there  had  swirled  the 
silks  and  satins  of  the  town's  elect.  Although  it 
was  now  a  cheap  billiard  room,  and  although  the 
beefy-faced  proprietor  was  sitting  at  a  window  in  his 
shirt-sleeves  smoking  a  very  rank  and  dirty  pipe, 
she  smiled  pleasantly  at  him  and  actually  nodded 
for  old  times'  sake,  out  of  the  exhilaration  of  a  day 
in  springtime  and  a  cherished  object  in  view. 

She  had  some  difficulty  in  rinding  Tuckerman's 
wharf,  for  many  of  her  landmarks  had  long  since 
disappeared,  but  at  last  she  entered  the  neat  gate- 
way and  stood  a  moment  to  survey  the  scene. 

The  water  of  the  harbor  was  rippling  merrily 
under  the  clear  blue  of  the  cloudless  sky.  Out  in 
the  middle  the  green  of  Harmer's  Island,  with  its 
stubby  little  whitewashed  lighthouse,  filled  the  centre 
of  the  picture  with  quiet  beauty,  while  the  back- 

76 


TILLY  HAS  HER  SUSPICIONS 

ground  was  formed  by  the  pastoral  shores  and  trim 
houses  of  Fairport. 

A  few  gulls  wheeled  lazily  across  the  vista,  and 
now  and  then  a  tiny  tug  snorted  into  view  and  out 
again  with  absurd  energy.  Far  down  to  the  south 
the  air  was  smirched  by  the  tall  clouds  of  smoke 
from  the  mill  chimneys. 

"  Thank  Heaven,  they  haven't  got  up  here,  at 
any  rate,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Copeland,  as  she  drank 
in  the  loveliness  of  the  immediate  view.  Stock- 
holder though  she  was  in  the  great  industrial  bar- 
racks, she  kept  her  aesthetic  opinion  of  them  in  a 
quite  separate  recess  of  her  nature. 

Tuckerman's  wharf  seemed  deserted  this  morn- 
ing, so  far  as  she  could  determine  at  a  cursory  glance. 
There  were  no  signs  of  life  aboard  the  "  Harpoon," 
and  the  flagpole  at  its  fore  was  bare.  Somewhat 
undecided  what  to  do,  Mrs.  Copeland  had  finally 
made  up  her  mind  to  stroll  away  for  a  while,  when 
a  queer  apparition  on  the  end  of  the  pier  attracted 
her  attention. 

The  figure  was  covered  with  reddish-brown  calico, 
was  straight  as  a  ramrod  and  almost  as  slim.  In- 
deed, it  seemed  that  a  strong  puff  of  wind  must  in- 
evitably pick  it  up  and  deposit  it  in  mid-harbor.  An 
immense  blue  sunbonnet  surmounted  the  top  of  the 
structure,  and  its  occasional  nodding  proved  that 
there  was  a  human  head  somewhere  within  its  re- 
cesses. 

"Gracious,  can  that  be  Agatha  Renier?"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Copeland  with  a  shudder.  Then  she 
dismissed  the  thought  with  a  smile. 

77 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  Too  thin ;  too  thin,  altogether.  And  too  stiff," 
she  said.  "  But  I'll  go  and  find  out  who  it  is,  and 
perhaps  she  can  tell  me  something  about  the  '  Har- 
poon '  people." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  woman  on  the  pier  was 
Hank  Donelson's  maiden  sister  Tilly.  Hank  had 
outrageously  and  in  a  wholly  indefensible  manner 
disappeared  shortly  after  breakfast  when  there  was 
half  a  cord  of  wood  to  saw,  and  Tilly  had  steered 
straight  for  Tuckerman's  wharf  to  hale  the  culprit 
back  to  duty.  But  for  once  she  had  been  mistaken, 
for  neither  Hank  nor  anyone  else  could  she  find  on 
the  "  Harpoon."  Being  of  a  frugal  mind,  and  need- 
ing something  for  dinner,  she  had  borrowed  some 
fishing  tackle  and  bait  from  Captain  Stewart's  sup- 
ply, and  was  now  engaged  in  enticing  her  next  meal 
from  the  incoming  tide. 

She  looked  around  suspiciously  at  Mrs.  Cope- 
land's  approach.  She  had  long  cherished  the  notion 
that  her  brother  Hank  was  a  gay  blade  among  the 
ladies,  and  she  was  in  mortal  terror  lest  someone, 
unable  to  resist  his  charms,  should  marry  him  out 
of  hand. 

"Be  you  a-lookin'  for  someone?"  she  asked, 
adjusting  the  neck  of  a  clam  on  her  hook  and  lower- 
ing it  with  infinite  caution  to  the  water. 

"  Yes,  for  Captain  Stewart." 

"Cap'n  Stewart?" 

"Likely,  now,  ain't  it,"  she  added  under  her 
breath.  "  Bet  it's  Hank."  Then  aloud:— 

"  Well,  he  ain't  here." 

"  This  is  the  '  Harpoon,'  isn't  it?  " 

78 


TILLY  HAS  HER  SUSPICIONS 

"  Yes,  that's  here  right  enough.  'Twouldn't  a' 
been,  though,  ef  Cap'n  Joel  could  a'  taken  it  with 
him." 

"  Does  he  love  it  as  much  as  that?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Copeland,  with  a  smile. 

Tilly  pretended  to  have  a  tremendous  struggle 
with  a  flounder  which  she  had  just  pulled  out  of  the 
water,  but  thinking  the  while :  "  I  knew  it ;  talks 
of  love  the  very  first  stitch."  Then  she  said :  , 

"  Yes,  I  'spose  you  call  it  love.  An'  if  he  must 
love  anything,  it'd  better  be  a  ship.  That  can't  talk 
back." 

"  Your  experience  of  love  must  have  been  bitter, 
my  good  woman." 

"  H'umph !  Don't  know  anythin'  about  it ;  don't 
want  to.  Never  even  seen  much  of  it  in  other 
folks!" 

"  Indeed  ?  But  pray  can  you  inform  me  when 
Captain  Stewart  will  probably  return,  or  is  there 
anyone  else  who  can  do  so  ?  " 

Tilly's  suspicions  were  by  no  means  allayed  by 
this  ostentatious  reference  to  Captain  Stewart  on  the 
part  of  this  fine  lady.  Under  the  guise  of  solicitude 
about  someone  else  she  saw  designs  on  the  peace  and 
happiness  of  Hank.  She  thanked  providence  that 
he  was  not  present  to  fall  a  victim  to  feminine  wiles. 
Then  she  decided  to  make  one  supreme  test. 

"  Are  you  quite  sure  it's  Cap'n  Stewart  you  want 
to  see  ?  "  she  asked  anxiously. 

"  Why  certainly ;  if  not,  why  should  I  ask  for 
him  ?  "  Mrs.  Copeland  was  getting  a  bit  impatient 
at  this  peculiar  examination. 

79 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  I  dunno,"  replied  Tilly  rather  helplessly,  "  but 
Aggy  Renier  says  that  one  of  them  books  she's  allus 
a-readin'  says  lan'widge  was  given  us  ter  hide  our 
thoughts." 

"  This  time  speech  expresses  thought,  and  I  do 
wish  to  see  Captain  Stewart,"  was  the  forcible  an- 
swer. 

"  Well,"  returned  Tilly  dubiously,  "  ef  yer  dew, 
that's  him  a-comin'  daown  the  wharf." 

As  Mrs.  Copeland  turned  and  went  to  meet  the 
old  man,  she  saw  that  Agatha  Renier's  grandfather 
was  no  common  sailor.  She  was  filled  with  ad- 
miration at  his  splendid  frame  and  she  liked  his 
frank  and  honest  face  at  first  sight.  She  held  out 
her  hand  cordially,  and  introduced  herself. 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Sarah  Copeland,"  she  said,  "  perhaps 
your  granddaughter  has  spoken  of  me."  , 

"  She  has,  ma'am,  she  has,  and  I  am  proud  and 
happy  to  meet  you.  If  I  can  be  of  any  service — " 

'  You  may  be  of  great  service  to  me  and  to  your 
granddaughter.  It  is  about  her  that  I  wish  to  talk 
to  you." 

"  Will  you  come  aboard  my  home,  ma'am  ?  I  can 
make  you  comfortable  in  the  cabin,  and  perhaps 
show  you  some  interesting  things.  And  mebbe 
you'll  smile,  but  I  can  think  better  down  there  than 
anywhere  else  in  the  world." 

"  By  all  means,  Captain.  I  have  heard  of  your 
snuggery  down  here  and  I  want  to  see  the  whole  of 
it.  So  prepare  to  receive  a  very  appreciative 
guest." 

The  captain,  with  inborn  stately  courtesy,  led  her 
80 


TILLY  HAS  HER  SUSPICIONS 


across  the  gang-plank  and  they  disappeared  down 
the  companion-way  together. 

During  these  proceedings  the  fish  at  the  end  of  the 
wharf  had  been  toying  with  Miss  Tilly's  bait  with 
perfect  impunity,  for  that  lady  had  been  watching 
the  captain  and  his  visitor  with  distrustful  eyes. 
She  shook  her  head  ominously  and  registered  a 
vow  that  she  would  not  leave  the  premises  until 
"  that  woman  "  had  taken  her  departure. 

She  drew  up  her  hook,  from  which  the  bait  had 
all  been  stolen  by  thieving  sea-perch,  shook  out  her 
calico  wrapper,  adjusted  her  sunbonnet  and  marched 
to  another  part  of  the  wharf  from  which  she  was 
certain  to  see  her  brother  Hank  should  he  appear 
while  danger  lurked  within  the  cabin  of  the  "  Har- 
poon." 

Courtesy  and  curiosity  struggled  for  the  mastery 
in  the  honest  captain's  heart  as  he  drew  the  chintz 
covering  from  a  rare  old  ebony  armchair  he  had 
picked  up  in  his  voyages,  and  offered  it  with  much 
ceremony  to  his  guest.  He  saw  the  look  of  real 
pleasure  in  Mrs.  Copeland's  face  as  she  surveyed  the 
unique  relics  of  his  long  life  on  the  ocean — the 
beautiful  and  costly  ivory  carvings;  the  delicately 
colored  shells,  tinted  by  the  magic  of  the  sea;  the 
great  glowing  branches  of  coral  flaming  out  in  the 
dim  light  like  Siegmund's  tree;  all  the  hundred  and 
one  bits  of  odd  and  interesting  things  arranged  by 
Agatha's  fine  sense  of  harmony  and  good  taste  into 
a  whole  that  was  most  attractive.  He  was  proud  of 
his  floating  parlor  and  glad  that  a  woman  of  cul- 
ture had  come  to  see  it  at  last. 

Si 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


And  he  was  curious — there  was  no  denying  that. 
Something  for  Agatha's  advantage  was  in  the  wind, 
but  what?  Money?  She  would  never  take  it,  nor 
would  he  allow  it.  A  present?  T^iat  would  be 
permissible,  perhaps;  it  depended  on  the  nature  of 
it.  He  dared  speculate  no  further,  but  pulled  him- 
self together  to  receive  the  coming  proposition. 


CHAPTER  IX 

LOVERS    MIGHTIEST   TEST 

THE  captain's  uncertainty  as  to  how  Mrs. 
Copeland  would  introduce  the  object  of  her 
visit  was  soon  ended  by  that  lady  herself  in 
her  most  brisk  and  uncompromising  manner. 

"  Captain  Stewart,  I  am  a  business  woman,"  she 
began.  "  When  I  talk  business  I  use  business  di- 
rectness." 

This  was  not  very  reassuring  to  the  simple  old 
man,  but  he  decided  to  await  developments,  and  not 
commit  himself  by  any  extended  speech. 

"  Yes'm,"  he  replied  rather  feebly. 

"  Your  granddaughter  has  done  me  a  great  serv- 
ice; I  am  in  her  debt." 

"  She  has  told  me  the  story ;  the  service  was 
nothing  to  mention,"  said  the  captain  earnestly. 
"  although,  if  I  do  say  it,  Agatha  is  a  brave  girl." 

The  glow  of  affection  in  the  fine  blue  eyes  found 
an  answering  of  admiration  in  the  gray  ones. 
Each  thought  of  Agatha  in  different  ways,  but  to 
each  she  was  the  dominating  figure  of  the  inter- 
view. 

"  As  I  have  already  said,"  continued  Mrs.  Cope- 
land,  "  it  was  a  great  service,  and  I  must  repay  it" 

"  We  are  not  rich,"  broke  forth  the  old  sailor 

83 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


with  rugged  emphasis,  "  but  Aggy  and  I  do  not 
want  pay  for  doing  our  duty." 

"  '  Aggy '  ?  That's  the  girl's  pet  name,  I  sup- 
pose." 

The  captain  admitted  the  fact  with  a  bow. 

"  Too  harsh  for  a  pet  name — altogether." 

"  Mebbe,  ma'am,  mebbe;   but  there's  another." 

"  Ah,  two  of  them  ?  She  is  fortunate.  What's 
the  other?" 

A  shade  of  embarrassment  passed  over  the  cap- 
tain's face  as  he  replied : — 

"  Miss  Petticoats." 

"Miss  what?" 

"Miss  .  .  .  Petticoats." 

"What  rubbish!" 

"  Well,  ma'am,  you  see  't  was  this  way — " 

Now  Mrs.  Copeland  knew  the  habits  of  sailors. 
She  would  not  have  been  averse  to  a  tar's  remi- 
niscence under  ordinary  circumstances,  but  this  was 
not  an  ordinary  visit.  So  she  good-naturedly  cut 
into  what  she  felt  was  about  to  become  a  long 
story. 

"  That's  the  way,  I  believe,  you  seafaring  men 
begin  what  you  call  a  '  yarn.'  Well,  I'll  have  it  on 
another  occasion ;  to-day  I'm  pressed  for  time.  .  .  . 
Your  granddaughter  has  done  me,  a  stranger,  a 
great  service.  How  can  I  repay  it?  " 

The  captain  rose  abruptly  at  this  second  mention 
of  payment,  and  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height 
of  six  feet,  two.  He  felt  no  abashment  now,  no 
diffidence  in  the  presence  of  this  fine  lady.  One  of 
the  powerful  elements  of  his  character  had  been 

84 


LOPE'S  MIGHTIEST  TEST 

stung  into  action  as  by  a  rankling  dart.  He  would 
put  an  end  to  all  this  talk  of  recompense,  and  at  once. 

"  I  have  said,  ma'am,"  said  he  sternly,  "  that  the 
Stewarts  accept  no  pay  for  freely  given  service. 
You  are  my  guest,  and  courtesy  demands  that  I  hear 
what  you  wish  to  say,  but  I  ask  you  kindly  not  to 
mention  the  word  pay  again  in  connection  with  the 
duty  Agatha  couldn't  have  shirked  without  forfeit- 
ing a  good  opportunity." 

"  Ah,  Captain  Stewart,"  returned  the  lady  with 
some  amusement,  "  it  isn't  hard  to  see  where  your 
pretty  granddaughter  gets  the  pride  she  cherishes  so 
carefully  down  in  her  hot  little  heart.  But  believe 
me,  I  meant  no  disrespect.  I  am  abrupt  because — 
well,  I  have  my  reasons.  I  am  greatly  interested  in 
your  grandchild.  Tell  me  about  her." 

Under  the  warmth  of  this  request  all  the  good  old 
man's  resentment  melted  in  an  instant.  This  rich 
and  cultured  woman  wanted  to  know  about  his  be- 
loved Agatha !  Why,  that  very  request  in  itself  was 
reward  enough  for  the  girl's  service.  He  would  tell 
her  everything  without  reserve,  tell  her  of  Agatha's 
strange,  yet  easily  accounted  for,  contradictions  of 
character;  tell  of  her  devotion  to  those  she  loved, 
her  scorn  for  those  she  hated ;  tell  of  his  own  hopes 
and  fears  for  the  girl  who  was  now  standing,  but 
scarcely  with  "  reluctant  feet,"  at  the  beginning  of 
womanhood. 

With  rude  eloquence,  inspired  by  the  subject,  he 
held  Mrs.  Copeland's  deepest  interest  for  nearly  an 
hour,  as  he  poured  forth  the  story  of  his  daughter's 
ruined  life,  Agatha's  coming  and  the  growth  of  cer- 

85 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


tain  traits  from  both  her  parents  in  her  young  heart. 
He  dwelt  tenderly  upon  her  warm  affection  for  him- 
self, her  love  for  the  old  ship,  her  scrupulous  pride 
in  dress  and  person,  her  newly-inspired  reverence 
for  her  mother. 

By  well  timed  interruptions  and  judicious  ques- 
tions, Mrs.  Copeland  had  no  difficulty  in  obtaining 
a  complete  compendium  of  Agatha  Renter's  mental, 
moral  and  physical  characteristics,  and,  making  all 
due  allowance  for  the  strong  bias  of  a  doting  old 
man,  it  was  still  perfectly  clear  that  no  common  girl 
lived  here  in  this  ship. 

"  She  works  in  the  mill  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Copeland, 
when  at  length  the  captain  seemed  to  have  exhausted 
his  fountain  of  eloquence. 

"  Yes ;  for  nearly  three  years  now.  She  would 
do  it." 

"  Doubtless,"  was  the  dry  rejoinder.  "  Then  she 
has  no  education,  I  presume." 

"  Beg  pardon,  ma'am,"  the  captain  replied  almost 
indignantly,  "  she  has  a  very  good  education  in- 
deed." 

Then  he  explained  how  he  had  learned  French 
from  a  French  sailor  years  ago  that  he  might  read 
the  books  his  daughter  had  brought  back  from  Paris, 
and  how  he  had  taught  Agatha  when  she  was  very 
young. 

"  See  here,  ma'am,"  said  he  proudly,  as  he  threw 
back  a  curtain  and  brought  to  view  a  large  collection 
of  volumes  arranged  on  shelves  fitted  into  several 
bunks,  "  she  has  read  these,  every  one." 

"  M-m,  well,"  observed  his  visitor  dubiously  as  she 
86 


LOPE'S  MIGHTIEST  TEST 

noted  the  titles  of  some  of  these  cherished  books, 
"  I  should  say  that  a  few  of  'em,  at  least,  might  just 
as  well  be  left  unread  by  a  girl  of  Agatha's  age." 

Somewhat  crestfallen,  the  captain  tried  another 
tack. 

"  Here  is  some  of  her  writing,"  he  said,  "  and 
here  a  lot  of  her  sums ; "  as  he  dragged  into  view  a 
pile  of  papers  covered  with  arithmetical  problems. 
"  She's  always  been  a  master  hand  at  figur- 
ing." 

The  time  had  now  arrived  for  Mrs.  Copeland  to 
strike,  and  she  struck  deep  as  usual. 

"  Captain  Stewart,"  she  said  incisively,  "  as  a 
sensible  man,  a  man  of  the  world  in  a  way,  you  must 
see  that  it  is  impossible  for  your  granddaughter  to 
grow  to  womanhood  under  these  surroundings,  com- 
fortable as  they  are,"  glancing  about  the  cosy  cabin. 
"  She  is  evidently  a  girl  of  great  refinement,  high 
aspirations  and  a  deal  of  brilliancy,  but  as  yet  her 
character  is  unformed.  How  and  by  whom  are  you 
going  to  form  it  ?  " 

"  You  are  right,  ma'am,  I  don't  doubt,"  replied 
the  old  sailor.  "  I  have  loved  her  and  been  good  to 
her  and  done  what  I  could  for  her,  but  I  couldn't  be 
a  mother  to  her ;  Aggy  has  needed  a  woman's  com- 
panionship; it's  been  a  great  loss  to  her  that  she 
hasn't  had  it.  A  man's  an  anchor,  but  a  mother's 
a  rudder,  so  to  say." 

"I'm  glad  you  recognize  the  situation,  Captain. 
Furthermore  you  must  perceive  that  the  drudgery 
of  the  mill  and  the  companionship  of  sailors — excel- 
lent men,  I  have  no  doubt — are  not  fitting  for  such 

87 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


a  girl  as  she.     I'm  not  a  snob  when  I  say  that  she's 
made  for  better  things." 

"  True,  ma'am,  true,"  said  the  old  man  thought- 
fully. Mrs.  Copeland  had  skilfully  penetrated  a 
weak  spot  in  his  armor,  and  he  was  now  her  pris- 
oner. 

"  Now  here  is  what  I  have  to  say.  I  want  Agatha 
to  come  and  live  with  me,  to  help  me  with  my  cor- 
respondence and  accounts  and  otherwise  to  be  a 
companion  to  me.  In  return  she  will  have  a  home, 
clothing  and  education.  Think  for  a  moment,  and 
then  give  me  your  answer." 

For  a  little  time  the  cabin  seemed  to  swim  before 
the  sight  of  the  old  sailor.  The  magnitude  of  the 
offer,  with  its  enormous  possibilities  for  the  years 
to  come,  overpowered  him.  He  seemed  the  helpless 
victim  of  some  terrific  stroke  of  fate. 

Finally,  through  the  fog  that  seemed  to  surround 
his  faculties,  there  bep-an  to  steal  the  realization  that 
all  this  portended  the  separation  from  his  one  joy 
in  life,  his  pretty,  loving,  clever  Agatha.  How 
could  a  kind  providence  work  in  any  such  way  as 
this? 

"  But,  ma'am,"  he  finally  found  words  to  say  in 
his  wretchedness,  "  Aggy — to  leave  me  ?  And  I, 
an  old  man — to  be  parted  from  her  always  ?  I — oh, 
ma'am,  I  can't  do  it,  I  can't  indeed." 

"  Now  Captain,"  said  Mrs.  Copeland  kindly,  pity- 
ing his  distress,  "  you  may  reassure  yourself  on  that 
point  entirely.  It  doesn't  mean  parting  at  all. 
Agatha  will  come  to  see  you  often,  and  you  can 
come  to  see  her  at  any  time  you  please." 

88 


LOPE'S  MIGHTIEST  TEST 

11  Well,  ma'am,  I  shall  not  stand  in  my  dear  child's 
way.  I'm  an  old  hulk  that'll  soon  be  broken  up; 
she's  just  ready  for  launching,  you  might  say,  all 
new  and  trim  and  taut.  The  hulk  has  no  business 
getting  in  the  way  just  as  the  new  boat's  going  to 
slide  into  the  water.  You  have  my  consent,  ma'am, 
and  there's  my  hand  on't." 

The  lady  took  his  big,  rough  paw  and  shook  it 
warmly.  Then  she  said  suddenly: 

"  You  love  your  grandchild,  Captain  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell  you  how  much,  ma'am." 

"  Then  listen  to  this,  and  never  forget  it :  the 
mightiest  test  of  love  is  sacrifice." 

In  the  silence  that  followed  on  the  part  of  both, 
voices  were  heard  on  the  wharf  above. 

"  I  say,  Aggy  Renier,  have  you  seen  anythin'  of 
my  brother  Hank  ?  "  came  in  shrill,  rasping  tones. 

"  No,  Tilly,"  was  the  musical  contralto  reply,  "  I 
haven't,  but  I  think  he's  up  at  Norton's  store  talking 
with  the  new  clerk." 

"  New  clerk,  eh  ?   Is  he — is  it  a  woman  ?  " 

"  She's  a  woman,  and  a  mighty  pretty  one,  too," 
said  the  tantalizing  voice,  and  the  next  instant 
Agatha  dashed  down  the  companion-way  in  her 
breezy  fashion,  and  then  came  to  a  sudden  halt  as 
she  saw  her  grandfather's  guest. 

"  How  do  you  do,  my  dear,"  was  the  pleasant 
greeting,  and  then  with  no  more  preliminaries,  "  I 
have  just  made  a  proposition  for  your  future.  Your 
grandfather  will  tell  it  to  you." 

In  a  very  few  words  the  old  man  outlined  the  offer 
that  had  come  to  her.  She,  too,  was  dazed  for  a  mo- 

89 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


ment,  but  as  the  full  significance  of  it  all  dawned 
upon  her,  she  broke  into  a  passionate  storm  of  re- 
monstrance, threw  her  arms  about  her  grandfather 
and  implored  him  not  to  send  her  away. 

"  No,  no,  little  girl,  there'll  be  no  real  sending 
away,"  reassured  the  old  man,  "  you're  to  come 
here  and  I'm  to  go  there  as  often  as  we  like,  and 
everything  will  be  as  right  as  a  trivet." 

"  And  think  carefully,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Cope- 
land,  in  her  most  convincing  tone,  "think  of  the  ad- 
vantages you  will  be  sure  to  get  in  such  a  new  life ; 
you  must  regard  your  future,  for  there  will  come 
a  time  when " 

"  Ay,  ay,  ma'am,"  broke  in  the  sailor  bravely, 
"  when  the  last  bo'sn's  whistle  calls  the  old  man 
aloft  you  mean.  It  can't  be  very  far  off." 

At  this  not  over-cheerful  conversation  Agatha 
burst  into  tears,  and  sobs  shook  her  body  as  the  storm 
a  young  sapling.  Then  she  rose  defiantly  and  faced 
the  two  who  seemed  to  be  conspiring  against  her 
peace. 

"  I  won't  go ;  I  won't.  No  one  shall  make  me," 
she  cried. 

Mrs.  Copeland  looked  at  the  captain,  and  in  her 
eyes  he  thought  he  saw  the  request  to  be  left  alone 
with  the  weeping  girl  for  awhile.  So  he  blundered 
over  to  the  pipe-rack  and  then  up  to  the  deck.  And 
strangely  enough — for  the  sun  was  still  shining  in 
a  cloudless  sky — he  seemed  to  have  difficulty  in  see- 
ing to  fill  and  light  his  pipe. 

Left  alone  with  the  pretty  picture  of  despair  in  the 
cabin,  the  stern,  hard-faced  Mrs.  Copeland  did  a 

90 


LOPE'S  MIGHTIEST  TEST 

thing  that  would  have  caused  her  acquaintances  on 
Bristol  Street  to  regard  her  sanity  with  suspicion. 

She  went  to  th£  side  of  the  weeping  girl,  drew 
her  gently  to  a  seat  and  placed  the  beautiful  head 
on  her  breast  with  the  tenderness  of  a  mother.  For 
moments  that  seemed  hours  to  both  no  word  was 
spoken.  But  the  sobs  began  to  grow  calmer,  as  an 
angry  sea  under  a  gentle  rain,  and,  finally,  they 
ceased  altogether. 

The  elder  woman  broke  the  silence. 

"  Dear  child,"  she  said  in  a  tone  no  one  then  liv- 
ing had  ever  heard  from  her  lips,  "  do  you  know 
why  it  really  is  that  I  want  you  to  go  home  with 
me  ?  It  is  because  my  life  has  been  incomplete  since 
nine  years  ago  when  I  stood  beside  the  new-made 
grave  of  a  girl  of  about  your  age — my  only  child. 
You  are  not  afraid  of  me  now,  are  you,  Agatha  ?  " 

The  tear-dimmed  eyes  were  raised  slowly.  They 
saw  that  the  stern  features  above  them  had  relaxed 
into  a  smile  that  had  something  almost  unearthly  in 
its  faraway  tenderness.  And  seeing  tjhat,  they 
trusted  completely. 

"  You  will  help  brighten  an  old  woman's  life,  will 
you  not,  dearie  ?  "  was  the  tremulous  query. 

Agatha  looked  at  her  fixedly,  a  strange  light  in 
her  eyes.  Then,  without  a  word,  she  softly  kissed 
her  benefactor  on  the  cheek,  and  with  a  little  sigh 
in  which  regret  and  happiness  were  mingled,  let  fall 
her  head  on  the  heaving  breast  that  was  so  seldom 
guilty  of  such  manifest  emotion. 

***** 
91 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


Agatha  spent  the  evening  in  overhauling  and 
furbishing  up  her  small  stock  of  fineries,  although  it 
had  been  decided  that  she  should  not  take  up  her 
residence  at  Mrs.  Copeland's  until  the  following 
week. 

As  for  Captain  Joel,  he  consumed  incredible  quan- 
tities of  tobacco  as  he  sat  at  ease  in  his  cabin  watch- 
ing the  lithe  young  figure  flitting  to  and  fro  at  her 
task,  but  his  pipe  was  often  out  and  he  made  a  great 
litter  with  his  half-burnt  matches. 

Far  into  the  night  Agatha  heard  him  pacing  the 
deck  overhead  with  measured  tread.  When  the  glim- 
mering in  the  east  began  to  note  the  coming  of  a 
new  day,  the  captain  took  his  stand  on  the  prow  of 
his  beloved  vessel  and  communed  aloud  with  him- 
self. 

"  Joel  Stewart,"  he  said,  "  you're  a  mutineer.  You 
had  sealed  orders  from  Alice  to  do  the  best  you 
could  for  her  child.  Now  that  the  right  course  has 
been  worked  out  for  her  by  a  safe  pilot,  you  want 
to  dispute  the  reckoning  and  steer  a  wild  course 
with  no  compass  but  your  heart.  You  mean  well, 
but  you're  twisted  on  latitude  and  longitude  by  your 
affections. 

"  Overhaul  your  rigging,  old  shipmate,  and  sail 
the  little  one  into  a  safe  harbor.  Remember  what  it 
says  on  Mrs.  Copeland's  chart,  that  '  the  mightiest 
test  of  love  is  sacrifice.'  Now  turn  in,  you  old  bar- 
nacle, and  when  it's  your  watch  again  see  that  you 
come  up  smiling  for  duty." 

Staunch  old  fellow  that  he  was,  he  could  not  go  to 
his  bunk  without  a  glimpse  at  his  idol.  As  he  passed 

92 


LOPE'S  MIGHTIEST  TEST 

her  cabin  door  he  peeped  in,  and  the  smile  he  saw  on 
the  sleeping  girl's  face  found  a  ready  reflex  on  his 
own. 

"  Bless  her  dear  heart,"  he  said  gently,  "  no  mat- 
ter how  high  she  climbs  she  won't  forget  her  old 
grandfather  down  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder." 


CHAPTER  X 

SOCIETY  AMUSES  ITSELF 

ROBERT  WORTH-COURTLEIGH  came 
home  to  dinner  with  a  pleasant  anticipation 
of  an  evening  of  quiet  literary  browsing, 
good  cigars  and  a  big  leather  arm-chair  in  his 
pretty  modern  house  on  a  "  new  "  street — for  Mrs. 
Worth-Courtleigh,  having  inhabited  one  of  the  an- 
cient residences  until  her  marriage,  absolutely  in- 
sisted on  "  something  fit  to  live  in."  So  she  had  a 
long,  rambling  place  with  stubby  towers,  unexpected 
eaves,  out  jutting  windows,  big  plate  glass  effects  and 
a  painfully  new  stone  foundation  marked  off  into 
weird  geometrical  figures  by  black  lines  of  putty. 

The  lawn  was  treeless  but  diversified  by  rockeries 
and  beds  of  early  plants.  Perhaps  there  was  the 
same  difference  between  this  establishment  and  the 
estates  of  Bristol  Street  as  between  its  fair  mistress 
and  the  high-bred  women  of  the  old  regime. 

Worth-Courtleigh  himself  would  have  been  con- 
tent anywhere  with  his  pretty  wife,  his  library  and 
his  cigars.  He  was  a  heavy,  stolid-looking  man, 
with  a  face  of  granite  and  a  voice  that  seemed  a 
perpetual  threat.  He  wore  a  short,  bristling  gray 
beard  that  was  as  pugnacious  as  such  things  could 
well  be,  and  the  steely  glint  from  his  greenish  eyes, 
added  to  his  other  formidable  attributes,  was  enough 

94 


SOCIETT  AMUSES  ITSELF 

to  make  the  stoutest  witness  quake  under  his  cross- 
examination. 

People  called  him  brutal  in  the  court-room,  but 
that  was  the  fault  of  his  aggressive  physical  quali- 
ties, and  not  of  his  heart.  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh 
knew  his  true  generosity  and  humanity,  as  she  had 
reason,  for  he  had  never  spoken  a  harsh  word  to 
her,  nor  shown  himself  other  than  a  gentleman  in 
all  their  relations.  They  had  drifted  into  a  species 
of  indifference  mainly  through  their  great  diver- 
gence in  tastes,  although  it  was  evident  that,  had 
she  chosen,  the  wife  might  have  turned  the  husband 
toward  any  sort  of  existence.  She  would  make  no 
such  effort,  nor  would  she  attempt  to  fix  her  desires 
by  his. 

"  Robert  is  a  rock,"  she  once  confided  to  one  of 
her  many  dear  friends,  "  and  I  do  not  propose  to  play 
ivy  to  His  Massiveness.  My  tendrils  reach  higher." 

Worth-Courtleigh  met  his  wife  at  dinner,  and 
kissed  her  in  his  formal  fashion. 

"  What's  all  this  rumpus  in  the  house,  my  dear?  " 
he  asked  between  spoonfuls  of  soup. 

"  Rumpus,  Robert,  I  don*t  understand." 

"  Flowers,  lots  of  candles  in  the  music-room,  gen- 
eral air  of  festivity." 

"  Why,  Robert,  it  can't  be  possible." 

"  What  can't?  "  he  asked  helplessly. 

"  Why,  that  you  have  forgotten  that  to-night  we 
give  a  musicale  for  Madame  Smyjane." 

"Eh;  who?" 

"  Oh,  come  Robert,  don't  pretend  ignorance.  Jane 
Smythe,  then,  if  you  like  that  better.  She's  just  back 

95 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


from  Paris,  and  has  a  bre-autiful  method,  the  most 
expensive  she  could  get,  I'm  told.  Solfeggio  says 
she's  sure  to  be  heard  from  in  grand  opera;  and  I 
have  the  honor  of  bringing  her  out.  It's  absurd  in 
you  to  have  forgotten  it." 

"  Well,  Lucy,  I  must  throw  myself  on  your  mercy. 
I've  been  fearfully  busy  of  late,  and  even  have  an 
engagement  to-night  with  some  of  the  mill  officials." 

The  wife's  quick  instinct  took  alarm.  She  cared 
little  for  her  husband's  society,  but  his  presence  at 
such  an  event  was  another  affair  altogether.  As  a 
show-piece  it  was  imperative. 

"  Now,  Robert,"  she  entreated,  with  the  sound  of 
tears  in  her  voice,  "  I  depended  on  you  to  help  me 
out  to-night.  It's  a  very  delicate  affair,  indeed,  and 
you  must  stay  in.  Do  cut  the  horrid  mill  people  out 
for  once,  and  give  your  wife  your  evening." 

The  charming  woman  who  would  not  be  "  ivy" 
then  acted  very  like  that  plant,  for  she  went  to  her 
burly  husband,  and  twining  her  warm  soft  arms 
around  his  neck,  put  her  red  lips  up  for  auction,  the 
price  of  which  he  well  knew. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said  hastily,  "Til  stay.  But 
don't  expect  me  to  join  in  the  idiotic  talk  of  a  lot 
of  your  guests.  I'll  be  on  exhibition  as  a  dummy, 
and  that's  enough." 

After  dinner  Worth-Courtleigh  retreated  to  his 
library  to  fortify  himself  before  the  ordeal  of  an 
evening  coat  and  society  small  talk. 

It  was  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh's  ambition  to  be- 
come the  prophetess  of  a  new  social  cult  in  Old  Chet- 
ford.  As  she  had  broken  away  from  Bristol  Street, 

96 


SOCIETT  AMUSES  ITSELF 

so  she  had  broken  away  from  the  stiff  and  pompous 
manner  of  the  old  dispensation.  Being-  a  scion  of  that 
same  dispensation,  she  could  do  this  with  the  cer- 
tainty of  dragging  with  her  a  part,  at  least,  of  the 
ancient  aristocracy.  She  dashed  into  the  work  of 
entertaining  with  abandon.  Her  dinners  were  rev- 
elations to  the  descendants  of  the  whalers  and  the 
Quakers;  her  dances  things  of  beauty  and  great 
cost;  her  patronage  of  out-of-town  geniuses  pleas- 
ant and  profitable — for  them,  at  least. 

She  had  begun  to  be  mentioned  in  the  society 
columns  of  the  Boston  papers,  and  when  one  gushing 
writer  called  her  the  "  Madame  Maintenon  of  Old 
Chetford,"  her  cup  of  happiness  was  full.  To  give 
special  distinction  to  the  musicale  this  very  "  edi- 
tress "  had  been  brought  down  from  the  metropolis 
after  a  little  practical  persuasion,  and  she  was  even 
now  closeted  with  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  over  in- 
structions as  to  what  names  should  appear  in  next 
Sunday's  "  paragraph."  Her  professionalism  was 
completely  concealed  by  her  Parisian  elegance  of 
-dress,  and  had  she  only  been  as  successful  in  hiding 
the  unkind  work  of  time,  she  would  have  passed  for  a 
woman  of  thirty;  in  reality  she  was  nearly  twice  as 
old. 

"  It  is  such  a  delightful  experience,,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Worth-Courtleigh,"  she  cooed  in  her  vivacious 
fashion,  "  to  visit  your  dear,  archaic  Old  Chetford, 
•and  see  the  scions  of  an  ancient  aristocracy  at  your 
feet.  What  an  inspiring  thing  it  must  be  to  have 
social  power." 

They  had  come  down  to  the  drawing-room,  and 

97 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  had  taken  her  position  be- 
side a  splendid  stand  of  palms,  cactuses  and  orchids 
in  readiness  to  receive  her  guests.  Behind  this  shel- 
tering screen,  but  so  close  that  conversation  with  her 
hostess  was  entirely  practicable,  stood  the  dashing 
journalist.  This  arrangement  had  been  made  for 
the  convenience  of  the  lady  in  jotting  down  the 
names  of  specially  distinguished  guests;  it  also  fur- 
nished her  opportunity  for  making  running  com- 
ments on  the  various  persons  as  they  entered  the 
room. 

"  Who,  pray,  is  that  pert,  overdressed  young  wo- 
man ?  "  said  the  voice  behind  the  plants,  as  the  first 
arrival  was  transferring  her  filmy  wraps  to  a  maid 
in  the  hall,  "  rather  pretty,  but  would  the  world  cease 
to  turn  if  she  should  happen  to  faint  away?  " 

In  considerable  amusement  at  this  clever  word- 
picture  of  the  singer — for  her  present  affiliation  with 
Miss  Jane  Smythe  was  for  social  purposes  merely — 
Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  replied: 

"  That  is  Madame  Smyjane,  my  chief  guest  of 
honor,  the  lady  to  whose  voice  you  are  to  pay  tribute 
at — how  much  per  line,  Mrs.  Rushton?  " 

Nothing  abashed,  the  woman  in  the  background 
went  on  with  her  rapid  fire. 

"  That  putty- faced  little  man  with  the  hair 
dragged  out  over  his  ears — who's  he  ?  Captain  Clay- 
bourne?  Fine  old  family?  Appearances  are  decep- 
tive. And  that  tall  blond  fellow  who  looks  like  a 
refined  lady-killer,  and — ah,  there's  a  handsome  chap 
for  you.  Gracious,  I  believe  he's  a  minister ;  what  A 
pity.  Who  is  he?" 

98 


SOCIETT  AMUSES  ITSELF 

"  Reverend  Ralph  Harding,"  answered  Mrs. 
Worth-Courtleigh,  with  little  ceremony.  The 
reference  to  Guy  Hamilton,  marvelously  accurate 
in  its  intuition,  aroused  all  her  resentment,  all  her 
jealousy.  In  the  surging  contradictions  of  a  slighted 
love  she  seemed  to  lose  all  sense  of  place  and  people. 
She  clutched  her  heart  and  leaned  for  support  a 
moment  against  one  of  the  friendly  palms. 

Nothing  of  this  was  lost  by  the  keen  intelligence 
behind  the  screen. 

"  Aha,"  said  the  woman  to  herself,  "  is  there 
something  between  the  Apollo  Belvidere  parson  and 
my  fair  hostess  ?  No ;  he  is  scarcely  her  style.  What 
is  it,  then,  that  has  floored  her  so  ?  I — have  it — the 
big  light  one  I  called  a  lady-killer.  M'm;  I'll  store 
that  away ;  it  may  be  of  use  sometime." 

The  approach  of  Madame  Smyjane  and  the  duty 
of  introducing  her  to  the  rest  brought  Mrs.  Worth- 
Courtleigh  to  her  usual  state  of  self-possession.  In 
a  little  while  Worth-Courtleigh  himself  appeared 
and  phlegmatically  went  through  a  task  he  detested 
as  thoroughly  as  he  did  his  clawhammer  coat. 

"  By  George,"  he  remarked  afterward  to  Ralph 
Harding  as  they  were  enjoying  a  cigar  in  the  library, 
"  I  wish  Jane  Smith's  grandfather  could  come  to 
life  and  walk  in  here,  that's  all.  He  was  dirty,  and 
always  smelt  of  whale-oil,  but  he  wasn't  a  sham." 

The  chatter  of  gathering  crowds,  the  swish  of 
skirts,  the  guffaws  of  the  men,  the  little  shrieks  of 
amusement  from  the  women,  the  rippling  scales  from 
the  piano  as  someone  touched  it  carelessly,  the  hun- 
dred sounds  from  human  beings  in  a  herd,  and  all 

99 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


the  subtle  odors  of  refined  femininity — none  of  these 
things  touched  the  emotions  of  the  big-brained 
lawyer  in  the  least.  But  he  knew  that  they  were  a 
part  of  the  bread  of  life  to  his  young  wife,  and  he 
tolerated  if  not  encouraged  them. 

The  presentation  of  the  singer  having  been  duly 
made  to  the  assembled  crowd,  about  three  quarters 
of  whom  had  known  her  well  since  childhood,  the 
conversation  became  general  and  little  groups  col- 
lected according  to  their  tastes.  A  number  of  the 
professed  patrons  of  music  gathered  about  Madame 
Smyjane  to  obtain  her  views  upon  the  noble  art. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  rector,"  she  said  to  the  Reverend 
Archibald  Greenacre,  the  sleek  and  optimistic  pas- 
tor of  the  St.  Agnes  Episcopal  Church,  "  method  is 
everything,  believe  me,  in  the  art  of  singing.  Shake- 
speare said  to  me  in  London :  '  my  dear  young  lady, 
you  have  a  glorious  voice,  a  true  lyric  soprano,  but 
without  my  method  what  would  it  avail  you  ? ' 
Marches!  said  the  same  thing  in  Paris.  I  took  both 
methods,  and,  although  they  were  very  dissimilar, 
I  chose  the  best  of  each  and  added  something  of  my 
own.  The  result  has  pleased  several  managers,  I 
may  tell  you  in  confidence.  But  to  all  I  say  the  same 
thing :  method  is  the  secret  of  power." 

"  But  Patti— Albani— Scalchi  ?  "  observed  the  di- 
vine mildly. 

"  Method,  all  method,  my  dear  rector.  Voice  ten 
per  cent;  method  ninety,  as  Lamperti  said  to  me  in 
Milan.  But  I  hear  dear  Professor  Arpeggio  at  the 
piano,  and  I  must  go  and  get  my  voice  in  trim,  for 

100 


SOCIETT  AMUSES  ITSELF 

I  understand  you  have  all  become  very  discriminat- 
ing critics  since  I  have  been  abroad." 

At  this  there  was  a  general  scurry  for  the  music 
room  and  a  collecting  of  little  knots  of  friends  in 
neighboring  seats.  The  distinguished  Prof.  Arpeg- 
gio, a  fat  little  Italian  with  black  hair  brushed  in 
the  Lisztian  style,  was  running  scales  and  blending 
modulations  until  the  company  should  be  seated. 
The  professor  had  begun  life  in  Old  Chetford  as 
the  pianist  in  a  sailors'  dance  hall,  but  by  his  native 
talents  and  a  keen  sense  of  sycophancy  had  risen 
high. 

At  last  he  brought  his  preludes  to  a  close  with 
an  authoritative  crash.  Then  he  plunged  into  the 
helter-skelter  of  a  Bach  fugue,  theme  chasing  theme 
under  his  puffy  little  fingers  with  amazing  rapidity. 
At  the  final  summing-up  chords  he  was  applauded 
till  his  perspiring  face  glowed  with  pleasure. 

After  a  melodious  tribute  from  an  imported  male 
quartet  to  the  silver  moon,  Madame  Smyjane  ap- 
peared. Prof.  Arpeggio  played  a  few  rambling  bars 
and  then  the  "  Jewel  Song  "  from  "  Faust "  was 
under  way.  The  little  Italian  played  the  accom- 
paniment wonderfully  well,  bringing  out  the  charm- 
ingly halting  and  uncertain  rhythm  and  the  wild  lilt 
of  exhilaration  in  so  masterful  a  fashion  that  the 
young  woman  could  hardly  have  sung  it  ill  had  she 
chosen. 

"Well,  what  of  the  new  prima  donna?"  asked 
Hamilton  of  Captain  Claybourne,  in  the  midst  of 
applause  that  was  loud  enough  to  allow  more  sincere 

101 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


personal  comment  to  be  made  with  impunity.  It  is 
one  of  the  curiosities  of  musical  criticism  that  the 
hand  and  the  tongue  are  often  at  complete  variance. 

"  '  Voice  ten  per  cent ;  method  ninety/  "  quoted 
the  captain  sententiously,  "  consistent  example  of  the 
value  of  her  own  theory." 

"  You're  a  duffer,  Claybourne.  I  tell  you  she's 
great ;  we're  going  to  hear  from  her,  see  if  we  don't." 

From  all  about  came  murmurs  of  admiration  and 
expressions  of  ecstatic  delight  "  Charming,"  "  So 
soulful,"  "  Spontaneous  as  a  bird  "  were  some  of  the 
spoken  comments — especially  near  Mrs.  Worth- 
Courtleigh.  It  was  well  for  that  lady's  peace  of  mind 
that  she  could  not  hear  other  whispered  opinions 
wherein  Madame  Smyjane  was  set  down  as  an  up- 
start without  a  voice  and  she  herself  criticized  for 
presuming  to  force  such  a  fledgling  into  the  favor  of 
Old  Chetford. 

But  they  all  took  excellent  care  that  the  singer 
should  have  an  encore,  which  she  accepted  with  an 
air  of  gracious  condescension  as  if  it  were  hers  by 
divine  right.  The  simple  little  Schubert  song  she 
gave  seemed  so  totally  out  of  place  in  that  atmos- 
phere of  exotic  luxury  that  even  these  not  very  sen- 
sitive people  felt  something  amiss  and  consequently 
applauded  more  vigorously  than  before  to  relieve  the 
situation. 

All  this  was  very  delightful  to  Mrs.  Worth-Court- 
leigh,  who  was  radiant  with  satisfaction  when  Guy 
sought  her  out  during  one  of  the  intermissions  of 
the  musical  programme.  Something  of  the  happy 
light  fled  from  her  face  at  his  approach. 

1 02 


SOCIETT  AMUSES  ITSELF 

"  So  you  still  care  to  honor  me  ?  " — looking1 
straight  into  his  fair,  handsome  face — "  that  is  pub- 
licly," she  added  with  her  enigmatical  smile. 

"  Publicly  or  privately,  your  honor  is  my  first 
care,"  returned  Guy  in  his  most  correct  manner. 

Scorn  and  disbelief  brimmed  into  her  eyes. 

"  Then  why  have  you  not — ah,  Robert,  playing 
truant  again?  And  you  too,  Mr.  Harding.  Cigars 
in  the  library,  of  course.  Oh,  you  soulless  men,  to 
prefer  vile  tobacco  to  a  beautiful  prima  donna." 

"  I  must  protest,  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh,"  said 
the  minister  with  a  laugh,  "  your  husband's  cigars 
are  very  good  indeed.  And  we  could  hear  the  prima 
donna  to  excellent  advantage  in  the  library.  I'm 
a  conventional  sinner,  you  know,  and  I  have  come 
to  beg  absolution." 

"  Fact  is,"  drawled  Captain  Claybourne,  who  had 
joined  the  group,  "  we  are  all  more  or  less  stuffed 
with  the  bran  of  conventionality.  Somebody  original 
comes  along,  punctures  us  with  a  sharp  phrase  or 
two  and  we  are  undone.  There's  no  denying  that 
the  world  is  going  to  seed." 

"  But,  my  dear  friend,"  objected  the  meek  rector, 
"  is  it  not  possible  that  you  yourself  are  becoming 
blase?" 

"  Not  at  all ;  I'm  simply  part  of  the  great  world- 
movement,  Greenacre;  mighty  few  have  escaped  it, 
except  Harding  here,  and  our  excellent  and  straight- 
forward friend  Mrs.  Copeland." 

"  Ah — Mrs.  Copeland/'  said  Harding  approv- 
ingly. "  By  the  way,  where  is  she,  Mrs.  Worth- 
Courtleigh?  I  surely  expecced  to  find  her  here." 

103 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  She  sent  her  regrets  to-day ;  some  special  and 
imperative  work  prevented  her  coming,  she 
said." 

"  My  aunt  has  been  very  busy  of  late,"  volun- 
teered Guy,  "  preparing  for  the  reception  of  a  new 
protegee  she  has  discovered — a  mill  girl,  I  believe, 
and  said  to  be  pretty.  She  stopped  my  aunt's  horses 
during  a  little  trouble  with  the  mill  people  the  other 
day,  and  Aunt  Sarah  would  have  it  that  she  was  a 
heroine.  Knew  which  side  her  bread  was  buttered 
on,  I  presume." 

The  easy  flippancy  of  this  remark  failed  to  deceive 
one  of  his  auditors,  at  least.  Mrs.  Worth-Court- 
leigh's  luminous  eyes  pierced  his  mask  of  indiffer- 
ence and  saw  his  anxiety  at  the  threat  that  had  come 
into  his  life  in  the  person  of  an  ambitious  young  girl. 
Nor  was  she  entirely  alone  in  her  penetration,  for 
there  were  several  of  Guy's  intimates  who  were  well 
aware  of  the  growing  insecurity  of  his  foothold  in 
his  aunt's  house. 

"  How  delightful  for  your  aunt  and — you,  Mr. 
Hamilton,"  she  said  smiling  sweetly.  "  It  is  always 
so  charming  to  see  one  of  high  station  stoop  to  be- 
friend one  of  the  rabble." 

"  I  trust  she  will  not  repent  her  kindness,"  sneered 
Guy,  "  but  I'm  afraid  "it's  like  trying  to  make  the  silk 
purse — you  know.  What  guarantee  is  there  that 
this  girl  and  her  grandfather  are  not  fortune  hunters 
and  adventurers  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  guarantee  there  is,  Hamilton," 
said  Harding  in  his  ringing  tones,  "  the  guarantee 
of  as  honest  an  old  sea-dog  as  ever  lived,  the  guar- 
antee of  a  proud  and  scrupulous  girl,  and,  if  that 

104 


SOCIETT  AMUSES  ITSELF 

is  not  enough,  the  guarantee  of  Ralph  Harding,  at 
your  service." 

Guy  Hamilton  smiled  sarcastically.  Although  he 
had  never  been  noted  for  perspicacity,  as  his  aunt 
had  said,  a  gleam  of  light  was  beginning  to  pene- 
trate his  mind.  He  bowed  to  the  minister  with 
elaborate  ceremony. 

"  Pardon  me,  Mr.  Harding,  for  wounding  your 
feelings,  and  believe  me  I  was  wholly  unaware  of 
your  interest  in  that  quarter.  My  deep  concern  for 
my  aunt  is  responsible  for  my  prejudice,  perhaps." 

"  Keep  your  concern  for  yourself,  Hamilton," 
said  the  clergyman,  pointedly,  "  you  may  need  it." 

That  ended  the  Agatha  Renier  discussion,  and 
after  more  singing  by  Madame  Smyjane  and  a  noisy 
performance  of  the  Twelfth  Hungarian  Rhapsody 
on  the  part  of  Prof.  Arpeggio,  a  dainty  supper  was 
served,  typical  of  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  and  all  her 
belongings.  Soon  the  good-nights  were  said,  and  a 
little  later  the  guests  of  the  recital  had  become  its 
critics,  according  to  the  pleasant  social  custom  of 
abusing  whatever  may  be  devised  for  our  entertain- 
ment. 

"  A  stupid  evening,"  soliloquized  Mrs.  Worth- 
Courtleigh  after  she  had  dismissed  her  maid,  and 
was  preparing  to  plunge  within  her  dainty  sheets, 
"  I  didn't  have  ten  words  with  him  alone — I  wonder 
if  that  girl,  that  Agatha,  is  really  as  pretty  as  they 
say  she  is." 

"  If  he  harms,  or  tries  to  harm,  one  hair  of  her 
head,"  thought  the  Reverend  Ralph  Harding  as  he 
smoked  a  peaceful  pipe  before  going  to  bed,  "  he 
shall  answer  for  it  to  me." 

105 


CHAPTER  XI 
'TWIXT  SMILES  AND  TEARS 

THE  little  company  of  gallant  old  sea  dogs 
whose  affections  were  entwined  around  the 
"  Harpoon "  and  Agatha  inclusively, 
would  not  hear  of  letting  the  great  event  of  the 
girl's  departure  to  the  glorious  realms  of  Bristol 
Street  pass  without  a  worthy  celebration. 

Their  honest  souls  were  a  little  puzzled  as  to  what 
form  the  festivity  should  take,  and  it  required  all 
of  Hank  Donelson's  superior  knowledge  of  such 
things — he  had  sometimes  acted  in  the  capacity  of 
extra  serving  man  on  the  "  Hill  " — to  evolve  a  plan 
befitting  the  young  lady's  conspicuous  merits. 

"  Tell  ye  what,  Cap'n  Joel,"  Hank  remarked  in  his 
brisk  little  manner  a  day  or  two  before  the  time  set 
for  Agatha's  departure,  "  jest  you  turn  the  ship  over 
to  me,  stem  to  stern,  an'  I'll  make  a  swarry  that'll 
do  justice  to  the  heroing.  You  jest  be  cabin-boy  fer  a 
bit,  an'  I'll  be  master.  Go  aloft,  ye  landlubber,  go 
aloft,"  and  he  cackled  loudly  at  his  joke. 

But  he  did  work  with  all  the  powers  of  his  diminu- 
tive body,  and  the  result  was  eminently  satisfactory. 

With  infinite  secrecy  he  stowed  away  a  mass  of 
decorations  in  the  fo'castle,  some  mysterious  sorts 
of  "  grub  "  in  the  galley  and  a  quaint  collection  of 
chairs  borrowed  from  neighboring  wharfingers  in 

106 


'TWIXT  SMILES  AND  TEARS 

the  hold.  These  things  properly  attended  to,  he 
sought  Cap'n  Joel  on  the  quarterdeck.  It  was  the 
day  before  Agatha's  setting  out  for  the  Copeland 
mansion. 

"  Wheer's  Aggy,"  he  asked,  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"  In  her  cabin,  putting  things  to  rights  against 
to-morrow,"  was  the  sorrowful  answer. 

"  I  orders  yer  to  take  her  out  ter  ride." 

"  What,  me  drive  a  horse  ?  "  queried  the  captain, 
growing  nervous  at  the  formidable  idea,  "  I've  never 
hauled  sheets  over  that  kind  of  a  rig  in  my  life. 
And  what's  it  for  anyway?  " 

"  It's  ter  keep  Aggy  out'n  the  way  whiles  I  trims 
the  cabin  and  gits  everythin'  shipshape  for  the  party. 
Git  Jim  Brown's  eighteen-year-ol'  hoss,  an'  ye  won't 
strike  no  squalls.  An'  don't  git  back  afore  four 
bells.  Now  be  off,  ye  greenhorn ;  I'm  master  here." 

"  Do  I  see  Tilly  coming  down  the  street  ?  "  in- 
quired the  captain  innocently. 

Poor  Hank's  important  manner  vanished  in  an 
instant. 

"Eh — what — who — Tilly?"  he  inquired  dis- 
mally. Then,  at  the  captain's  roar  of  laughter  his 
face  was  o'erspread  with  joy  and  relief,  and  he 
trotted  away  to  the  fo'castle  to  assort  his  treasures. 

When  Agatha  returned  to  the  "  Harpoon  "  in  the 
early  sunset,  she  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  bow  of 
the  homely  old  bark,  tremulous  with  the  thought  of 
parting.  A  rich  glow  spread  across  the  water  of 
the  harbor  transformed  its  islands  and  shores  into 
kingdoms  of  dreams.  The  girl's  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  more,  perhaps,  at  the  quiet  pathos  of  the  beau- 

107 


tiful  scene  than  at  the  sorrow  of  separation.  The 
final  breaking  of  powerful  ties  was  yet  to  come. 

She  smiled  when  Hank's  head  darted  from  the 
companion-way  like  a  teal's  from  the  water.  Faith- 
ful old  soul,  she  would  some  day  see  that  he  got  his 
reward. 

"  Now,  Miss  Aggy,  jest  ye  come  below  half  a 
shake,  an'  give  me  a  bit  of  advice  on  a  p'int  of  im- 
portance. Will  ye,  now  ?  "  he  added,  rather  wist- 
fully, as  he  saw  the  girl's  lingering,  faraway  gaze 
held  by  the  faint  silvery  twinkle  of  an  early  star. 

"  Why  of  course  Hank,"  she  said  pleasantly,  drop- 
ping from  her  revery  at  the  appeal.  "  Lead  on,  you 
dear  old  boy,  and  I'll  follow  you — to  the  keelson, 
if  you  say  so." 

Almost  bursting  with  pride,  the  little  sailor  con- 
ducted Agatha  to  the  after-cabin,  and  then  into  an 
ordinarily  unused  section  of  the  hold  amidships.  She 
stood  at  the  entrance  for  a  moment  filled  with  the 
innocent  amazement  of  girlhood.  Then  she  gave  a 
little  cry  of  delight. 

"  O-O-h,  Hank,  how  lovely !  You  never  did  all 
that  yourself !  " 

"  Yes'm,"  admitted  the  diminutive  tar,  trembling 
with  delight,  "  Hank  Donelson — that's  me — only 
able  seaman  at  it;  cap'n,  fust  mate,  crew  an'  cabin- 
boy  all  in  one.  Is  it — is  it  swell?  " 

"  Elegant.  And  what  is  it  all  for  ?  Why — yes — •• 
of  course.  For  me ;  a  good-by  party.  You  bad  boy 
to  go  to  all  that  trouble.  It's  a  perfect  vision !  " 

And  indeed  an  older  and  more  sophisticated  wo- 
108 


'TWIXT  SMILES  AND  TEARS 

man  than  Agatha  might  have  been  pardoned  for  ex- 
pressing frank  admiration  at  the  sight.  From  end 
to  end  and  overhead  the  hold  had  been  festooned 
with  bunting  of  red  and  white,  Agatha's  favorite 
color  combination.  Here  and  there  the  strips  were 
looped  up  by  rosettes  of  immense  scallop  shells, 
from  which  hung  long  bunches  of  rockweed.  A 
masthead  light  was  brilliantly  glowing  at  either  end, 
while  along  the  sides  a  dozen  red  and  green  port 
and  starboard  lanterns  shone  most  cheerily.  At 
one  extremity  was  the  well  preserved  figurehead  of 
the  old  whaler  "  Juno,"  and  the  goddess's  hair  was 
crowned  with  a  wreath  of  variegated  Maytime  blos- 
soms. This  was  fondly  supposed  by  Hank  to  typify 
Agatha  and  the  honors  to  be  paid  her. 

A  long  table  was  set  forth  as  for  the  feast  of  a 
company  of  seagods.  The  cloth  was  a  brand  new 
duck  sail,  and  the  candles  were  stuck  in  shells  of 
all  sizes  and  hues.  An  immense  pyramid  of  freshly 
boiled  lobsters  formed  the  centre-piece  of  the  unique 
banquet-board,  and  high  over  all  was  suspended  a 
magnificent  stuffed  gull,  whose  outspread  wings 
seemed  a  peaceful  omen  to  the  room  and  those  who 
should  gather  there. 

Agatha  hurried  to  her  cabin  to  put  on  her  bravest 
array  for  the  great  event,  and  had  just  emerged  from 
the  little  sanctuary,  soon  to  know  her  no  more,  when 
the  guests  began  to  arrive.  Practically  they  all  came 
at  once,  for  they  had  never  learned  that  it  was  a 
mark  of  distinction  to  be  late  at  social  festivities. 

Hank,  as  master  of  ceremonies,  received  the  corn- 
log 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


pany  at  the  gang-plank  with  wonderful  urbanity, 
and  shouted  the  name  of  each  as  he  or  she  boarded 
the  "  Harpoon." 

All  the  old  salts  who  had  known  and  petted 
Agatha  for  years  were  on  hand,  as  a  matter  of 
course.  Captain  Sykes,  Artemas  Slickersley  and  a 
few  other  of  Captain  Stewart's  cronies  were  re- 
splendent in  their  choicest  land-togs  and  well  greased 
hair.  The  young  skipper,  Captain  Sykes's  nephew, 
came,  too,  with  frank  and  honest  admiration  for  the 
lovely  heroine  of  the  occasion  shining  in  his  eyes. 

Rev.  Ralph  Harding,  escorting  two  or  three  of 
Agatha's  mill  friends,  arrived  a  little  later.  Mr. 
Harding  had  been  invited  in  an  especially  elaborate 
manner  by  Hank,  who,  although  his  literary  attain- 
ments were  blocked  when  it  came  to  combining  the 
letters  of  the  alphabet,  was  a  great  frequenter  of 
the  reading-room,  where  he  perused  the  illustrated 
magazines  with  all  the  dignity  of  a  college  professor. 

All  the  guests  paid  their  respects  to  Agatha,  who 
stood,  blushing  and  radiantly  happy,  in  the  after- 
cabin,  and  then 

"  Smash  my  binnacles,  ef  thar  ain't  Tilly !  "  cried 
Hank,  in  dire  distress,  as  all  the  visions  of  playing 
lord  of  the  feast  vanished  in  a  twinkling.  How  she 
had  learned  of  the  celebration  he  was  at  a  loss  to 
know,  but  here  she  was,  an  embodied  kill-joy.  Prob- 
ably she  would  drag  him  back  to  the  dullness  of  their 
little  kitchen.  His  infantile  face  puckered  as  if  he 
were  about  to  cry. 

But,  wonder  of  wonders,  Tilly  calmly  descended 
the  companion-way  with  an  absolutely  gracious  ex- 

no 


'TWIXT  SMILES  AND  TEARS 

pression  on  her  peaked  face.  Moreover  she  carried 
a  big  bundle  in  her  arms,  and  furthermore  she 
greeted  everyone  pleasantly,  and  Agatha  with  real 
gentleness.  The  bundle,  being  stripped  of  its  paper, 
proved  to  be  a  cage,  within  which  perched  her  par- 
rot, Nicodemus.  The  bird  looked  with  wonderment 
at  the  unusual  sight  and  thoughtfully  uttered  a 
smothered  imprecation,  a  mental  remnant  of  his 
youthful  days  aboard  ship. 

"  Now  then,  messmates,  all  amidships,"  cried 
bustling  Hank,  offering  Agatha  his  arm  with  Ches- 
terfieldian  gallantry.  The  little  procession  of  honest 
souls  passed  to  the  gay  supper-room,  and  so  began 
to  pass  Agatha  Renier  from  her  old  life. 

The  feast  was  fit  for  old  Neptune  himself.  Such 
lobsters,  all  agreed,  had  never  been  made  to  blush  for 
their  own  excellence;  such  chowder  had  never  been 
tasted  on  the  old  "  Harpoon ;  "  such  clams  and 
scallops  simply  couldn't  have  been  found  anywhere 
else ;  the  coffee  was  nectar,  and  as  for  the  plum-duff 
with  brandy  sauce — well,  that  triumph  of  culinary 
art  would  have  caused  the  fancy  cooks  of  the  "  Hill  " 
to  hang  their  heads.  And  there  was  ice-cream,  con- 
tributed by  Mr.  Harding. 

With  pipes  and  grog  for  the  men  came  all  the 
pent-up  jollity  of  the  evening.  Hank,  who  sat  at 
one  end  of  the  table  in  great  state,  pounded  for  order 
with  an  immense  whale's  tooth,  and,  fixing  his  gaze 
on  Agatha,  who  was  at  the  opposite  end,  thus  de- 
livered himself: 

"  Shipmates,  messmates,  hearties  and  all :  this  ere 
swarry — w'ich  I  learned  on  the  '  Hill ' — is  fer  us 

in 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


ter  show  Aggy  Renier  what  a  fine  young  craft  she 
is,  an'  how  glad  we  be  that  she's  a-goin'  ter  leave  us." 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Hank,"  interjected  Tilly  se- 
verely. 

"  No,  no,  not  glad  she's  a-goin'  ter  leave  us,  in 
course,  but  glad  the  little  craft  we  all  thinks  such  a 
sight  on  is  goin'  ter  run  inter  a  fine  port  where  there 
ain't  goin'  ter  be  no  squalls  or  shipwreck. 

"  I  ain't  much  of  a  hand  on  wrastlin'  with  gab, 
'specially  on  a  great  'casion  like  this  'ere.  I'm  a 
lubber  on  speechifyin',  but  what  I  says  I  means,  an' 
when  I  says  that  we  all  on  us  thinks  Aggy  Renier  is 
the  sweetest,  purtiest  an'  lovin'est  gal  that  ever  trod 
deck,  that  I  stand  by  till  I'm  broke  up  fer  junk." 

Under  cover  of  the  uproarious  applause  that  fol- 
lowed his  oratorical  flight,  the  warm  hearted  little 
fellow  wiped  his  eyes.  So  did  old  Captain  Stewart, 
for  upon  him  was  the  heaviest  blow  to  fall.  "  Love's 
mightiest  test "  kept  singing  itself  in  his  soul,  and 
he  knew  that  by  the  measure  of  his  grief  was  meas- 
ured also  his  manhood. 

Tilly,  who  had  disappeared  during  the  closing 
portion  of  Hank's  speech,  now  returned  bearing 
Nicodemus  in  his  cage.  She  hung  him  from  one 
of  the  under  hatch-rings  so  that  he  was  brought 
into  direct  line  of  view  with  the  stuffed  gull,  which 
he  viewed  with  gloomy  suspicion  and  cursed  earn- 
estly once  or  twice.  Then  he  startled  everyone,  ex- 
cept his  mistress,  by  screeching: 

"  Good-by,  Aggy ;  good-by,  Aggy.  Good  luck, 
good  luck,  good  luck." 

"  Oh,  you  old  dear,"  cried  Agatha,  "  you  taught 

112 


'TWIXT  SMILES  AND  TEARS 

him  to  say  that,  and  you  brought  him  down  on  pur- 
pose. Oh,  everyone  is  so  kind;  how  can  I  thank 
you  all?" 

"I'll  tell  you,  Agatha,"  said  Harding,  rising  in 
his  place,  amid  cries  of  "  hear  "  and  nautical  shouts 
of  approval  from  the  sea-dogs,  "  You  can  best  show 
your  gratitude  in  your  new  life  by  never  forgetting 
these  old  friends,  as  true  as  any  you  will  ever 
have " 

"  As  if  I  ever  could !  "  broke  in  the  girl  rather  in- 
dignantly. 

"  I  do  not  believe  you  will,"  he  continued.  "  Then 
you  have  a  duty  to  your  new  friend ;  see  that  you  do 
it  with  your  whole  heart.  Remember  that  the  world 
is  large  and  you  a  small  part  of  it,  and  yet  you  may 
make  that  part  of  wonderful  value.  Be  brave,  honest, 
upright  and  true,  and — I  will  not  be  prig  enough  to 
say  that  you  will  necessarily  be  happy — you  will  de- 
serve to  be  happy,  and  deserts  sometimes  win.  We 
all  trust  you  and  love  you,  Agatha;  you  have  our 
heartiest  Godspeed." 

"  Speech,  Aggy,  speech,"  quavered  old  Artemas 
Slickersley,  and  his  demand  was  reinforced  by  the 
young  skipper,  who  was  by  this  time  head  and  ears 
in  love,  but  wouldn't  have  acknowledged  it  for  the 
world. 

"  Shall  I  ?  "  she  whispered  to  her  grandfather, 
blushing  prettily  the  while. 

At  a  nod  of  approval  from  the  old  man,  she  be- 
gan, this  child  who  to-night  saw  the  whole  world 
through  the  rose-colored  glasses  of  happy  anticipa- 
tion. 

"3 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  Dear,  good  friends,  all  of  you,"  she  said,  "  I 
am  going  away,  but  not  out  of  your  hearts  at  all. 
Oh,  you  will  see  how  I  shall  think  of  you  when  I 
come  into  my  kingdom.  I  shall  be  a  great  lady  some 
day,  and  everyone  will  love  me  for  the  good  that  I 
shall  do.  No  more  taunts,  no  more  insults;  the 
world  will  be  glad  that  Agatha  Renier  is  living." 

"  Poor  little  girl,"  thought  Harding,  "  when  the 
disillusioning  comes  what  a  crash  there  will  be." 

"  But  it  is  hard  to  say  good-by  to  the  old  ship," 
she  continued,  "  I've  lived  here  all  rny  life  and  I  love 
every  timber  and  nail  in  it.  You'll  all  come  here 
very  often,  won't  you,  and  tell  the  '  Harpoon '  how 
sorry  you  are  that  Aggy  has  gone?  And  tell  my 
dear  grandfather  that  I  shall  never  cease  to  love 
him  and — that — I — oh,  Grandpa,  Grandpa !  " 

She  broke  into  sobs  and  threw  herself  impetuously 
into  his  arms.  He  soothed  her  with  a  few  words 
and  brought  her  to  a  realizing  sense  of  her  duty  to 
the  guests.  She  looked  about,  smiling  through  her 
tears. 

It  was  then  that  Captain  Phineas  Sykes  arose  to 
the  opportunity.  Dragging  forth  a  large  box  from 
under  the  table,  he  proceeded  to  untie  its  strings 
clumsily  and  put  the  cover  in  readiness  to  remove 
at  the  proper  time.  He  got  upon  his  feet  and  waved 
his  right  arm  at  Agatha. 

"  Miss  Aggy — Agatha  Renier,"  he  began  with 
stentorian  voice,  "  we  old  friends  an',  ye  might  say, 
gardeens,  have  seen  fit  for  ter  present  ye  with  a 
gift  as  a  '  slight  token  of  esteem/ — w'ich  they  allus 
says  in  perlite  society.  This  'ere  gift  ain't  much  ter 

114 


'TWIXT  SMILES  AND  TEARS 

brag  on  pecoon'arily,  but  our  hearts  is  in  it,  Aggy, 
an'  that  ye  well  know." 

Saying  this,  he  pulled  out  from  the  box  a  big 
shoulder-cape  of  aggressively  yellow  fur,  and  waved 
it  triumphantly  before  Agatha's  shrinking  eyes.  Its 
hideousness  was  pathetic,  its  uselessness  all  too  ap- 
parent, yet  after  the  first  shock  the  girl's  warm  na- 
ture rallied  bravely,  and  she  saw  the  love  and  de- 
votion before  everything  else. 

With  a  tremulous  smile  she  thanked  the  unsuspect- 
ing old  sailors  in  a  few  pretty  words. 

There  were  songs  and  toasts,  and  yarns  and  grog 
in  reckless  profusion  before  the  evening  had  whoMy 
worn  away.  The  ditty  that  aroused  the  greatest 
enthusiasm  was  one  that  had  been  ingeniously  re- 
vised so  that  it  declared  that  although  "  Jack  has  a 
gal  in  every  port,  my  Aggy's  the  one  fer  me." 

At  last  came  strong  and  earnest  "  Auld  Lang 
Syne,"  and  the  farewells  of  the  company.  The  old 
tars  kissed  Agatha,  and  the  young  tar  wished  that 
he  might,  but  contented  himself  with  a  hearty  hand- 
shake. Then,  one  by  one,  they  went  away,  the  lights 
were  put  out,  and  the  fragrant  darkness  of  the  Maj? 
night  claimed  the  "  Harpoon  "  for  its  own. 


CHAPTER  XII 

AT   NEW    MOORINGS 

LITTLE  sleep  came  to  the  eyelids  of  the  ex- 
cited girl  in  the  cabin  of  the  "  Harpoon  " 
that  night.  A  transition  so  stupendous,  so 
full  of  promise  she  verily  believed  had  never  come  to 
a  young  woman  before,  and  she  must  keep  awake  to 
face  it;  she  would  greet  the  dawn  of  the  wondrous 
day  with  all  her  faculties  alert. 

She  tried  to  project  herself  into  the  years  to  come ; 
she  saw  herself  well-dressed,  well-groomed,  bloom- 
ing with  beauty,  like  some  of  the  girls  of  the  aristoc- 
racy she  had  envied.  She  loved  good  clothes,  not 
from  any  birdlike  desire  to  merely  flaunt  fine  plu- 
mage, but  because,  like  good  friends,  they  were  more 
companionable  than  bad.  Shabbiness  hurt  her  as 
something  unclean.  And  now  she  would  never 
know  it  more ! 

She  felt,  too,  with  a  strange  throb  of  gladness,  that 
her  character  was  to  be  molded  by  influences  and  per- 
sons fitted  for  that  delicate  task.  She  knew  herself 
thoroughly,  and  now  that  she  had  heard  the  story 
of  her  birth  she  felt  that  she  understood  hitherto 
unaccountable  contradictions  in  her  nature.  She  was 

116 


AT  NEW  MOORINGS 


old  enough  to  appreciate  the  effects  of  Gallic  blood 
on  simple  New  England  stock,  and  she  saw  in  a 
new  light  her  pride,  her  rash  impulsiveness,  her 
warm  affections  and  her  love  of  truth. 

She  smiled  there  in  the  dark  as  a  typical  incident 
of  her  childhood  came  to  her  mind.  She  was  walk- 
ing along  Bristol  Street  one  day  with  a  little  com- 
panion of  water-front  parentage.  As  they  were  lean- 
ing over  the  hedge  of  one  of  the  great  estates  a  lady 
came  out  on  the  lawn  with  her  maid,  the  latter  carry- 
ing a  plate  of  tarts.  Agatha  was  very  hungry,  and 
her  eyes  watched  the  tarts  with  tell-tale  avidity. 

"  Are  you  hungry?  "  the  lady  had  asked,  attracted 
by  her  beauty  and  the  innocent  appeal  for  the  pastry. 

'"  Yes'm,  please." 

"  Give  the  poor  little  girl  a  tart,  Mary." 

Agatha  had  straightened  up  instantly,  she  recalled. 

"  Thank  you,  I  don't  want  any  tarts  now,"  she 
had  said  haughtily.  Then,  at  a  glance  at  her  forlorn 
and  disappointed  little  comrade : — 

"  Yes,  I  will  take  one  to  give  this  little  girl.  She 
is  poor ;  my  grandfather  is  a  captain !  " 

Reviewing  the  events  of  the  past  week,  she  knew 
that  she  would  not  have  gone  to  Mrs.  Copeland's 
as  a  dependent;  the  mere  thought  fanned  her  pride 
into  hot  indignation.  No,  she  was  going  because  she 
could  grant  a  favor,  she  could  become  of  value,  she 
could  make  the  grand  lady  in  a  sense  dependent  on 
her.  She  would  improve  herself,  truly,  but  in  that 
very  process  she  would  become  more  and  more  neces- 
sary— perhaps  an  object  of  pride  to  her  new  mentor. 

In  the  great  sea  of  the  future  blazed  forth  one 
117 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


light  far  outshining  all  others  to  Agatha's  percep- 
tions. It  was  the  call  of  duty  to  clear  her  mother's 
name  of  every  cloud,  however  filmy.  Since  hearing 
the  story  of  the  tragedy  from  her  grandfather,  it  had 
become  Agatha's  passion  to  dwell  upon  her  part  in 
the  future  exoneration,  until  she  had  become  a  trifle 
morbid  on  the  subject.  She  had  even  dreamed  that 
her  mother's  form  had  come  to  her  and  had  made 
her  the  chosen  avenger  of  an  unjustly  despoiled 
reputation.  Ah,  she  would  carry  out  her  part  at  any 
cost — that  she  vowed  with  all  the  strength  of  her 
ardent  nature. 

How  she  could  become  the  instrument  of  justice 
for  her  mother  she  did  not  know,  nor  did  slie  much 
care.  She  realized,  however,  that  the  higher  she 
climbed  in  the  social  world  the  more  crushing  a 
blow  she  could  deliver  when  her  moment  arrived. 
She  prayed  that  the  time  might  be  delayed  until  she 
had  achieved  power  and  position ;  that  she  might  not 
attain  either,  never  once  entered  into  her  scheme 
of  the  future. 

After  all  these  sleepless  dreams  the  girl  fell  into 
a  dreamless  sleep  spite  of  her  resolution,  to  be 
aroused  late  in  the  morning  by  her  grandfather's 
knock  and  his  cheery  call: — 

"  Come  Aggy,  my  girl,  this  is  the  day  you  set 
sail." 


Mrs.  Copeland's  reception  of  Agatha  was  char- 
acteristically cordial  and  direct. 

118 


AT  NEW  MOORINGS 


"  My  dear,  you  are  welcome.  This  is  you! 
home  now  as  well  as  mine.  I  hope  you  will  be  happy 
in  it.  When  you  are  not,  tell  me  so  frankly." 

This  she  said  as  she  met  the  girl  at  the  door. 
Hank  and  the  captain  had  accompanied  their  idol  to 
the  very  steps,  bringing  her  few  little  belongings 
with  almost  ludicrous  care.  Nothing  could  persuade 
them  to  enter,  however,  and  they  immediately  went 
down  the  path  together,  waving  a  final  farewell. 

Agatha  gulped  down  the  suspicion  of  a  sob,  then 
turned  to  Mrs.  Copeland  with  one  of  her  radiant 
smiles. 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall  be  happy  in  this  beautiful 
place  and  with  you,"  she  replied.  "  And  when  you 
are  not  glad  that  I  am  here,  tell  me  so." 

"  I  shall,  my  child.    Now  come  to  your  room." 

To  Agatha's  rather  exotic  color  sense  the  dainty 
white  and  blue  of  her  chamber  seemed  wan  and  emo- 
tionless at  first,  yet  even  at  that  early  stage  of  her 
development  she  recognized  the  perfect  taste  that 
ruled  there  as  well  as  all  over  the  house ;  she  felt  the 
caressing  touch  of  the  simple  and  old-fashioned 
beauty  that  governed  the  estate,  indoors  and  out, 
and  she  gave  herself  up  to  the  charm  with  supreme 
happiness. 

From  the  dim  and  cramped  interior  of  the  "  Har- 
poon "  to  the  airy  brightness  of  the  mansion  was  a 
change  that  drew  out  all  the  buoyancy  of  the  girl's 
nature.  She  sang  the  old  French  songs  with  a  bril- 
liancy that  attracted  the  attention  of  more  than  one 
caller. 

119 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"Who  is  that  girl  with  the  delicious  voice?" 
asked  an  out-of-town  friend  one  day  as  the  sound  of 
a  merry  chanson  came  from  above  stairs. 

"  That's  my  new  secretary,  Miss  Agatha  Renier. 
She  does  sing  well,  doesn't  she?" 

"  Like  a  thrush.  Is  she  as  pretty  as  her  name 
and  her  voice  ought  to  have  her  ?  " 

"  M'm,  ye-e-s,  I  am  inclined  to  think  she  is." 

"  Then  why  not  exhibit  her?  " 

"  Not  yet,"  replied  the  wise  old  woman,  "  you 
spectators  might  be  inclined  to  criticize  the  picture 
as  unvarnished.  Her  day  will  come,  though." 

Agatha's  first  week  in  her  new  home  was  busy 
enough,  even  for  her  extraordinary  activity.  First 
of  all  came  the  dressmaker,  an  object  of  awe  and  ad- 
miration. She  was  a  fat  and  bustling  little  woman 
who  knew  where  all  the  skeletons  of  Old  Chetford's 
first  families  were  kept,  and  was  prone  to  make 
them  dance  merrily.  Mor<  than  once  Mrs.  Cope- 
land's  raised  finger  and  pui  ^d  lips  gave  her  silent 
warning  that  the  sound  of  the  rattling  bones  was  not 
good  for  the  young  girl's  ears. 

The  dresses  themselves  surprised  and  rather  dis- 
appointed Agatha.  Her  convictions  in  the  matter  of 
raiment  were  of  long  standing  and  were  full  of  that 
delight  in  the  primary  colors  shown  by  the  women 
of  the  Latin  races.  These  clothes  were  simple,  pale, 
undemonstrative ;  she  feared  she  would  look  insignifi- 
cant in  them.  But  when  she  put  them  on  one  after 
the  other  in  their  completed  state,  she  knew  at  once 
that  they  brought  her  beauty  into  greater  prominence 
than  ever,  and  gave  her  a  manner  she  had  never  at- 

I2O 


AT  NEW  MOORINGS 


tained  with  her  mother's  much  more  gorgeous  ma- 
terial. This  was  her  first  lesson  in  good  taste,  and 
she  never  forgot  it. 

Other  branches  of  the  girl's  education  were  entered 
upon  without  delay  by  Mrs.  Copeland,  whose  rule  it 
was  to  act  to-day  as  if  you  were  going  to  die  to-mor- 
row. A  superannuated  old  clerk  named  Samuel  Hen- 
derson, who  had  once  been  in  the  employ  of  Mrs. 
Copeland's  husband  and  was  now  living  comforta- 
bly on  a  pension,  was  engaged  to  give  Agatha  in- 
struction in  the  fundamentals  of  business  and  finance, 
and  it  required  very  little  persuasion  to  obtain  the 
services  of  Rev.  Ralph  Harding  for  a  couple  of  hours 
two  days  in  the  week  in  order  to  instil  into  her  mind 
the  essentials  of  history,  biography  and  literature.  In 
all  of  this  Agatha  showed  a  tenacity  of  memory,  a 
grasp  of  the  meaning  of  things  and  a  breadth  of 
view  that  fairly  startled  the  young  minister. 

One  afternoon  their  talk  chanced  upon  Walpole's 
famous  dictum  that  "  every  man  has  his  price." 

"  Do  you  believe  that,  Agatha?  "  asked  Harding, 
half  expecting  an  indignant  repudiation  of  any  such 
doctrine. 

;'  Yes,  I  do,"  she  replied  frankly,  "  only  you 
mustn't  make  it  merely  money.  I  think  that  there 
is  some  way  to  reach  anybody  in  the  world  and  per- 
suade him  to  do  things  he  does  not  believe  are  right. 
Even  you " 

She  left  the  sentence  uncompleted,  but  the  depth 
of  her  gaze,  full  into  the  minister's  eyes,  started  the 
course  of  his  well-ordered  blood  a  little  and  gave 
him  a  strange  sense  of  helplessness  before  this  strong 

121 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


character.  As  he  went  home  he  wondered  how  she 
would  have  finished  the  application  of  Walpole's 
aphorism  to  himself,  and  in  the  quiet  of  the  evening 
in  his  study  that  wonderful  look  haunted  him. 

With  such  a  world  of  delightful  novelty  to  oc- 
cupy her,  Agatha  was  very  happy.  She  missed  her 
grandfather,  of  course,  but  that  fine  old  fellow  came 
up  to  Bristol  Street  later  in  the  week  to  see  how  the 
girl  "  liked  her  new  moorings,"  and  she  had  little 
chance  to  feel  homesickness.  The  captain  reported 
to  the  assembled  tars  that  evening  that  everything 
was  taut  and  shipshape  and  that  Aggy  sent  her  best 
love  to  all  her  old  messmates  and  assured  them  that 
not  one  of  them  should  ever  be  forgotten  as  long  as 
she  lived.  Whereat  a  tremendous  cheer  shook  the 
very  ribs  of  the  old  "  Harpoon,"  the  like  of  which 
had  not  been  heard  since,  in  its  palmy  days,  the  gal- 
lant bark  used  to  start  down  the  harbor  on  its  three 
year  cruises  to  the  north  Pacific. 

Agatha  quickly  won  the  allegiance  of  the  Cope- 
land  servants  by  her  kindness  and  lack  of  offensive 
superiority.  She  had  the  good  sense  to  avoid  famil- 
iarity with  them,  and  she  did  not  go  to  the  other  ex- 
treme of  presuming  on  her  position  to  order  them 
about  needlessly.  John,  the  hatchet-faced  butler, 
was  made  her  slave  by  a  little  incident  which  he 
described  in  the  servants'  hall  to  an  admiring  audi- 
ence. 

"  You  see  Miss  Agatha,"  he  related,  "  ain't  what 
you  might  call  bang-up  on  the  way  the  quality  con- 
ducts itself  at  the  table,  an'  she  knows  it.  So  to- 

122 


AT  NEW  MOORINGS 


day  she  comes  to  me  an'  she  slips  a  dollar  into  my 
hand,  an'  says  to  me : — 

"  'John,'  she  says,  '  I  feel  that  I've  been  makin' 
dreadful  mistakes  at  the  table,  an'  Mrs.  Copeland 
is  too  kind  to  correct  me.  Now  I  want  you  to  watch 
me  at  dinner  an'  when  I  do  any  thin'  wrong,  you  jest 
clear  your  throat,  an'  I'll  see  what  I'm  doin'  an'  cor- 
rect it' 

"  Well,  she  starts  right  in  takin'  her  soup  off'n 
the  point  of  her  spoon,  an'  I  clears  me  throat.  Then 
she  tips  up  her  plate,  an'  I  clears  it  again,  good  an' 
loud.  Then  she  takes  a  piece  of  bread  an'  butters  it 
away  up  in  the  air,  and  I  gives  another  old  whop- 
per. Pretty  soon  she  makes  so  many  mistakes  that 
I  sounds  like  a  man  with  gallopin'  brownketers,  when 
all  to  once  Mrs.  Copeland  gives  me  one  of  them  aw- 
ful looks  of  hers  an'  says: — 

"  '  John,  you  may  leave  the  room.  If  your  throat 
is  in  such  a  condition  as  that,  you'd  better  go  to  bed 
an'  have  a  doctor/ 

"  Then  Miss  Agatha  speaks  right  up,  an'  says : — 

"  '  No,  Mrs.  Copeland,  it's  not  his  fault  at  all ;  in- 
deed it's  not.  It's  all  mine.  I  got  him  to  clear  his 
throat  when  I  made  mistakes  in  eating,  and  oh,  dear, 
I  made  so  many  that  he  had  hard  work  to  keeg  up.' 
An'  I  thought  she  was  jest  about  to  go  off  inter  tears 
when  Mrs.  Copeland  gives  a  rousin'  big  laugh  an' 
everythin'  ended  jolly.  She's  a  brick,  that  gal  is." 

Guy  Hamilton's  attitude  toward  the  newcomer  in 
the  household  was  studiously  neglectful  and  superior. 
His  disgust  for  his  aunt's  "  visionary  scheme  "  was 

123 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


limitless,  and  mingled  with  this  was  the  ever-present 
fear  that  Agatha  was  a  potential  menace  to  his  pe- 
cuniary prospects.  Of  course  this  feeling  was  never 
expressed;  he  professed  the  greatest  unconcern  as 
to  the  girl  and  did  everything  in  his  power  to  solidify 
the  impression  that  she  was  merely  engaged  for  a 
little  clerical  labor. 

He  rarely  spoke  to  Agatha  and  what  he  did  say 
was  with  a  fine  air  of  condescension.  He  thought 
his  best  policy  was  to  "  keep  her  down,"  as  he  ex- 
pressed it  to  Captain  Claybourne,  who,  to  do  him 
justice,  had  little  sympathy  for  such  a  campaign, 
and  he  fondly  believed  he  could  freeze  her  into  a 
sort  of  menial  position.  He  little  knew  the  young 
woman's  calibre. 

One  day  an  incident  opened  his  eyes  in  a  measure. 
He  and  Agatha  'happened  to  meet  in  the  library  for 
a  moment,  and  at  just  that  particular  time  the  door- 
bell rang.  The  butler  was  out  and  the  maid  far  in 
another  part  of  the  house. 

"  Answer  the  bell,  Agatha,  there's  a  good  girl," 
he  said,  with  a  sort  of  patronizing  authority. 

Instinctively  she  started  to  comply ;  then  a  sudden 
thought  stopped  her. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  I  shall  not  answer  the  bell." 

"  And  why  not,  pray,"  sneered  Guy,  "  is  it  be- 
neath you,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  What  I  think  is  of  no  consequence,  Mr.  Hamil- 
ton; what  I  know  is  that  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  is 
at  the  door,  and  that  you  may  prefer  to  admit  her 
yourself." 

"  By  Jove,"  he  thought  afterward  as  he  tried  to 
124 


AT  NEW  MOORINGS 


remember  whether  there  had  been  any  meaning  in 
her  eyes  as  she  mentioned  the  name  of  the  visitor, 
"  that  girl  is  too  sharp  for  her  own  good.  And  per- 
haps I'd  better  drop  vinegar  and  try  molasses.  It 
never  fails  with  women,  never." 


5Un0s  anfc  Brrowa 

CHAPTER  XIII 

A  PIRATE  CRAFT  SIGHTED 

THE  slipping  away  of  a  year  and  a  half  in  the 
life  of  Old  Chetford  was  marked  by  no 
external  changes  of  great  importance.  To 
be  sure,  the  electric  rails  had  writhed  their  way 
through  many  of  the  business  streets  and  even  down 
to  Promont6ry  Road,  but  that  had  long  been  con- 
sidered inevitable;  Deacon  Snow  had  built  a  large 
new  stable  to  the  great  discontent  of  some  of  his 
co-workers  in  the  vineyard  who  could  not  see  why  a 
deacon  should  have  more  than  one  horse  in  any 
event ;  another  cotton  mill  had  been  erected,  and  the 
city  was  climbing  into  the  first  rank  of  manufactur- 
ing communities;  more  plate  glass  had  appeared 
in  the  places  for  retail  trade,  and  a  new  theatre  had 
been  constructed  out  of  the  remains  of  the  ancient 
Episcopal  Church  on  Liberty  Street. 

But  none  of  these  things  was  absolutely  essential 
to  the  drama  of  human  life  in  the  old  town. 

More  noteworthy  was  the  passing  to  his  fathers 
of  the  Reverend  Dr.  Evans,  the  pastor  of  the  Central 

126 


A  PIRATE  CRAFT  SIGHTED 

Church  for  over  thirty  years.  This  blow  was  soft- 
ened to  the  hearts  of  the  younger  parishioners  of  the 
gentler  sex  by  the  certainty  that  the  good  old  clergy- 
man would  be  succeeded  by  a  youthful  servant  of 
the  Lord,  not  long  from  the  divinity  school,  and 
happily  unmarried- 

Of  course  the  "  chroniclers  of  small  beer  "  had 
not  ceased  their  perennial  purveyings ;  no  quiet  short 
of  the  grave  can  bring  about  the  stilling  of  gossip 
and  malice  and  innuendo.  Not  that  Old  Chetford 
had  any  particular  prominence  in  this  form  of  diver- 
sion ;  it  simply  held  its  own  in  that  human  desire  for 
unpleasant  knowledge  about  someone  else  that  is 
probably  found  as  fully  developed  in  an  Esquimaux 
village  as  in  a  New  England  town. 

The  real,  the  momentous  changes,  fraught  with 
good  or  evil,  were  taking  place  in  the  lives  of  men 
and  women.  The  never  ending  building  of  char- 
acter, the  limitless  circling  of  wheels  within  wheels 
of  human  personality,  the  births  of  ambitions,  the 
deaths  of  hopes,  the  loves  and  hatreds  of  high  life 
and  low — all  proceeded  in  due  measure  under  the 
hand  of  fate,  who  neither  hurries  nor  delays  her 
work  for  all  the  smiles  and  all  the  tears  of  the  world. 

Agatha  Renier's  share  in  the  changes  of  time  had 
been  very  great.  The  bud  had  bloomed,  and  the 
flower  was  as  fragrant  and  attractive  as  its  early 
promise  had  given  token.  Childhood  had  stolen 
away  into  the  mists  of  memory,  and  womanhood 
had  placed  its  sign  and  seal  on  her  lithe  body. 

The  inevitable  result  of  the  influences  of  wealth 
and  refinement  were  seen  in  her  walk,  her  bearing1, 

127 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


her  voice,  her  gestures.  She  seemed  quite  to  the 
manner  born,  which  delighted  Mrs.  Copeland  be- 
yond measure,  as  justifying  her  warmest  predictions. 
Her  "  boasted  woman's  intuition  "  had  made  no  mis- 
take, and  she  gloried  in  the  fact. 

"  Agatha  has  certainly  made  wonderful  progress 
by  her  own  inborn  qualities,"  she  said  to  Mr.  Hard- 
ing one  day.  "  But  don't  you  think  that  I,  too,  de- 
serve some  of  the  credit  ? "  she  asked,  wistfully. 
She  felt  a  childlike  desire  to  be  praised. 

"  You  certainly  do,"  he  returned  with  his  kindly 
earnestness,  "  a  part  no  one  can  overestimate.  Had 
it  not  been  for  you,  I  dare  not  think  what  she  might, 
perhaps,  be  to-day." 

Tears  of  gratitude  came  to  the  stern  old  woman's 
eyes.  It  was  her  most  cherished  pleasure  to  feel 
that  she  had  turned  the  strong  tide  of  this  young 
life  into  safe  and  happy  channels.  She  loved  the 
girl  more  than  she  would  have  confessed  to  anyone, 
even  to  herself. 

Agatha's  mental  progress  had  been  equally  re- 
markable. For  no  moment  had  she  lost  sight  of 
her  determination  to  become  strong  in  mind  and 
powerful  in  personality.  She  applied  herself  to  her 
studies  with  immense  energy,  choosing,  so  far  as  she 
was  allowed,  the  things  that  would  make  her 
"  amount  to  something." 

All  the  practical  elements  of  finance  and  business 
she  had  drained  from  old  Samuel  Henderson,  the 
pensioned  clerk,  until  he  declared  that  his  attendance 
was  a  waste  of  time — pleasant,  he  had  to  admit,  but 
still  a  waste. 

128 


A  PIRATE  CRAFT  SIGHTED 

So  now  this  girl  from  the  "  rabble,"  as  Mrs. 
Worth-Courtleigh  had  once  phrased  it,  had  become 
an  important  factor  in  the  aristocratic  household, 
and  an  almost  indispensable  confidant  of  Mrs.  Cope- 
land  in  the  handling  of  her  affairs.  All  this,  with 
its  implied  responsibility,  had  steadied  her,  toned 
down  her  tendency  to  erratic  exuberance.  As  her 
grandfather  would  have  put  it,  she  had  "  taken  on 
ballast." 

She  would  not  have  been  herself  had  her  course 
through  these  eighteen  months  been  wholly  of 
smooth  sailing.  Her  warm  temper,  her  pride,  ever 
ready  to  spring  out  almost  involuntarily,  her  strong 
sense  of  what  she  considered  justice,  were  some- 
times brought  plump  up  against  Mrs.  Copeland's 
powerful  will  and  settled  convictions  with  a  shock 
that  might  easily  have  meant  disaster. 

One  day,  as  the  two  were  going  over  some  busi- 
ness matters  at  the  mahogany  desk,  Mrs.  Copeland 
said,  with  what  seemed  to  the  girl  a  touch  of 
brusqueness : 

"  Agatha,  where  is  that  letter  I  asked  you  to  copy 
and  file?" 

"  It  must  be  here ;  I  brought  it  down  from  my 
room  this  morning." 

"  It  isn't,  or  I  shouldn't  have  asked  you." 

Agatha  caught  sight  of  the  envelope  on  the  desk. 
Hot  with  indignation  that  a  charge  of  carelessness 
should  be  made  against  her  without  investigation, 
she  rose  imperiously  and,  pointing  to  the  packet,  said 
in  an  angry  tone : — 

"  You  will  find  it  there,  Mrs.  Copeland ;  you've 
129 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


no  right  to  accuse  me  without  looking,"  and  swept 
out  of  the  room  and  up  to  her  chamber. 

A  few  minutes  later  a  very  penitent  Agatha  came 
down  again. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Copeland,"  she  cried,  striving  to  keep 
back  her  sobs,  "  will  you  forgive  me  ?  I — did  bring 
back  the  envelope,  but  I  left  the  letter  in  a  book  I 
was  reading,  and — just  found  it.  What  can  you 
think  of  me?" 

Such  incidents  as  this  were  few,  and  when  they 
did  occur  they  made  Mrs.  Copeland's  heart  warm 
toward  the  girl  rather  than  otherwise;  she  recog- 
nized Agatha's  firmness  in  standing  on  her  rights 
when  justice  seemed  to  be  on  her  side,  and  her  in- 
stant yielding  when  she  was  shown  to  be  wrong,  and 
she  was  by  no  means  displeased. 

Agatha's  musical  tastes  were  given  every  en- 
couragement; in  fact,  when  Mrs.  Copeland  found 
what  a  natural  aptitude  she  had  for  the  piano  she 
insisted  on  a  thorough  course  of  instruction  for  the 
girl.  Prof.  Arpeggio  went  into  ecstacies  over  his 
new  pupil's  cleverness ;  allowing  for  his  characteristic 
flattery,  however,  she  did  play  very  well  indeed. 
She  had  no  very  exalted  opinion  of  her  talents ;  once 
when  a  world-famous  woman  pianist  came  to  Old 
Chetford  for  a  recital  she  sat  spellbound  through  it 
all,  and  nothing  could  induce  her  to  touch  her  piano 
for  a  week. 

"  But  my  ears  are  still  full  of  that  wonderful, 
wonderful  playing,"  she  said,  in  answer  to  Mrs. 
Copeland's  remonstrance.  "  Don't  make  me  spoil 
it  all  by  listening  to  myself.  I  want  it  to  last." 

130 


A  PIRATE  CRAFT  SIGHTED 

But  that  was  well  in  the  past  when,  on  a  bright 
October  afternoon,  she  was  dashing  through  some 
velocity-studies  with  a  precision  and  clearness  good 
to  hear.  So  thought  an  unperceived  auditor  who 
stood  in  an  open  piazza  window  and  gazed  in  won- 
derment at  the  girl's  flying  ringers.  At  a  pause  in 
the  playing  he  pounded  his  hands  together  with  tre- 
mendous vigor. 

"  Grandfather ! "  cried  the  girl,  as  she  ran  to 
the  window  and  dragged  the  beaming  old  fellow 
into  the  room,  "  you  dear  old  boy ;  how  did  you 
ever  get  up  to  the  window  without  my  hearing 
you?" 

The  captain  roared  with  laughter. 

"  You  hear  me?  "  he  rejoined.  "  What,  with  all 
that  crash-bang  and  licketty-larrup  going  on  in  the 
pianner?  Why,  I  could  have  brought  a  whole 
ship's  crew  here  and  you'd  never  known  the  differ- 
ence." Then  he  added  tenderly: 

"  Are  you  glad  to  have  Fridays  come,  Aggy  ?  " 

"  Oh — yes !  "  she  replied  fervently;  "  whether  you 
come  here  or  I  go  down  to  the  old  '  Harpoon,'  it's 
always  a  dear,  delightful  day.  I  wouldn't  miss 
them  for  the  world,  not  even  for — this,"  and  she 
looked  about  the  fine  room  with  eyes  full  of  mean- 
ing. "  I  never  would  have  wholly  left  you — you 
may  well  believe  that — but  what  on  earth  are  you 
so  mysterious  about?" 

Truly  the  captain  was  conducting  himself  in  a 
rather  remarkable  manner.  He  shifted  uneasily 
from  foot  to  foot,  his  face  grew  red  and  his  glance 
constantly  sought  the  open  window  through  which 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


he  had  entered.     Then  a  curious  little  chuckle  was 
heard  outside. 

"  It's  a  gray  squirrel,  I  think,"  said  Agatha, 
"  there  are  lots  of  them  in  the  trees." 

"  Ho,  ho,  ho,"  shouted  the  old  sailor.  "  A  squir- 
rel !  He,  he,  he.  A  gray  squirrel.  Come  in  here, 
you  squirrel,  and  show  yourself  to  the  lady.  Come 
in,  I  say." 

And  thereupon  entered  Hank  Donelson  to 
Agatha's  great  delight  and  surprise.  Hank  had 
been  away  from  Old  Chetford  for  over  a  year  as 
mate  of  a  coasting  schooner  and  had  just  arrived  in 
port.  His  youthful  face  and  figure  were  absolutely 
unchanged.  He  looked  at  Agatha  with  a  sort  of 
awe. 

"  Why,  Aggy,  how  ye've  grown  an'  kinder 
plumped  out.  Why,  ye' re  a  out  an'  out  lady  with 
yer  grand  new  riggin',  an'  as  fer  good  looks — well, 
I  ain't  a  goin'  ter  make  yer  vain,  that's  all.  I  says 
nothin'  but  I  thinks  a  lot.  I'm  a  kind  of  skeered  of 
yer,  fer  a  fact." 

"  Nonsense,  Hank,"  said  the  girl  as  she  cordially 
grasped  his  hand.  "  Weren't  you  my  friend  in  the 
old  days?  Well,  you  are  here,  then.  I  haven't 
changed  a  bit." 

By  skilful  little  touches,  mostly  reminiscent, 
Agatha  soon  banished  his  diffidence  and  his  sense  of 
being  out  of  his  element  in  such  luxurious  surround- 
ings. 

"  Now  I'll  play  something  for  you,  Hank,"  she 
exclaimed,  merrily.  "What  shall  it  be?  Ah,  I 
have  it" 

132 


A  PIRATE  CRAFT  SIGHTED 

Then  came  the  infectious  lilt  of  the  "  Sailor's 
Hornpipe,"  played  as  Hank  had  never  heard  it  be- 
fore. He  would  have  danced,  but  that  the  velvet 
carpet  said  him  nay. 

But  when  it  came  to  a  song  Hank  yielded  to  the 
inevitable.  All  three  joined  in  one  of  the  rollicking 
choruses  of  "  Harpoon  "  days.  The  merriment  was 
at  its  height  when  the  door  opened  and  Mr.  Guy 
Hamilton  walked  in. 

Hank  was  terrified  into  dumbness  instanter;  the 
captain  more  gradually  subsided,  and  Agatha,  al- 
though she  stopped  singing,  played  the  air 
through.  She  turned  to  Hamilton  with  a  radiant 
smile. 

"  It  was  for  old  times'  sake,  Mr.  Hamilton.  Did 
it  make  a  horrible  noise?  " 

"  Not  at  all,  Agatha ;  it's  pleasant  to  have  the  old 
house  waked  up  now  and  then.  How  do  you  do, 
Captain  ?  Introduce  me  to  your  somewhat  diffident 
friend." 

Evidently  it  was  one  of  Mr.  Hamilton's  agreeable 
days.  He  shook  Hank  warmly  by  the  hand,  chatted 
pleasantly  with  the  captain  for  a  moment,  and  then 
went  and  stood  beside  Agatha,  who  was  still  at  the 
piano. 

"Sing  me  the  '  Nussbaum,'  will  you,  Agatha?" 
he  asked  in  a  caressing  tone,  the  quality  of  which 
was  not  wholly  respectful,  "  you  know  how  I  always 
enjoy  it." 

"  Why  yes,  of  course,  if  you  wish.  But  why  do 
you  not  sing  it  yourself?  You  know  how  I  drilled 
and  drilled  you  in  it  until  you  said  you  thought 

133 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


'  Nussbaum,'  ate  '  Nussbaum  '  and  drank  '  Nuss- 
baum.' ' 

They  laughed  together  at  the  recollection,  but 
Guy  had  his  way,  and  Agatha  sang  the  beautiful  lied 
with  all  the  delicacy  of  her  poetic  nature.  Then  she 
devoted  herself  to  her  grandfather  and  Hank,  and 
time  passed  on  golden  wings  for  all  of  them. 

As  the  two  old  salts  were  on  their  way  to  the 
hospitable  cabin  of  the  "  Harpoon  "  the  talk  turned, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  on  Agatha. 

"  Yes  siree,  Cap'n,  the  gal  has  changed  mightily 
under  her  new  rigging  an'  she's  trim  an'  tidy  to  the 
masthead.  But  somehows  or  other  I'm  afeared 
she's  got  a  pirate  craft  alongside  in  that  feller  that 
helped  her  play  the  pianner." 

"  Nonsense,  Hank,  my  lad,"  returned  the  whole- 
souled  Captain  Joel,  "  why,  he's  Mrs.  Copeland's 
nevvey.  He  was  only  manning  the  sides  out  o' 
politeness." 

Hank  said  nothing  more,  but  during  the  rest  of 
the  walk  he  shook  his  little  head  sagaciously  and 
seemed  to  be  engaged  in  preternaturally  deep 
thought. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AN    IDOL   OF   CLAY 

<  4  f~^\  OOD  old  chaps,  by  Jove,"  exclaimed  Guy, 

i  -••  after  the  captain  and  Hank  had  made 
^--^  their  exit  through  the  long  window. 
"  It's  like  a  whiff  of  salt  air  on  a  hot  day  to  have 
them  in  this  formal  place  for  an  hour." 

Agatha  sighed  ever  so  faintly,  as  she  sat  down 
before  the  piano  again  and  struck  a  soft  minor 
chord  or  two  thoughtfully.  It  did  not  escape  Ham- 
ilton, who  had  come  to  know  the  girl's  moods  far 
more  thoroughly  than  one  would  have  expected  of 
a  man  of  his  character. 

"What's  the  matter,  Agatha?  And  the  smiles 
that  you  flung  about  with  such  abandon  a  little 
while  ago — where  are  they  all  gone?  " 

The  girl  whirled  the  piano  stool  about. 

"  I've  been — thinking." 

"  Thinking?  A  bad  practice  for  young  girls, 
what  are  your  thoughts  about?  " 

"  I've  been — wondering — whether  I'm  a  success 
or  a  failure  here." 

"  Ask  Aunt  Sarah." 

"  No,"  Agatha  replied  very  gently,  "  she  is  too 

135 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


prejudiced  in  my  favor.  Oh,  of  course  I  have 
learned  many  things  and  quite  outgrown  the  old 
'  Harpoon  '  girl...  I  can  play  and  sing  and  talk  in  a 
decent  fashion.  .  But — am  I — really  fit  for — ?  " 

"  For  what?  "  he  asked,  as  the  pause  seemed  likely 
to  continue  indefinitely. 

"  For  the  higher  world !  "  she  blurted  out,  "  the 
world  of  grand  people,  the  world  of  society." 

Guy  looked  at  her  in  silent  astonishment.  She 
had  ambitions,  then,  this  girl  from  the  ranks,  am- 
bitions not  to  be  measured  by  the  ordinary  standards 
of  youth.  She  had  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  mountain 
tops.  "  Yet  why  not  ?  "  he  asked  himself  hurriedly ; 
she  had  the  magic  fascination  of  beauty,  the  power- 
ful force  of  personality,  the  irresistible  attraction 
of  a  brilliant  mind.  Everything  but  station  was 
hers,  and  he  knew  that  that  objection  was  by  no 
means  insuperable,  even  in  race-proud  Old  Chetford. 
And  there  were  far  fields  beyond.  At  last  he  an- 
swered her,  but  by  a  question  in  return. 

"  Why  do  you  ask  me  that,  Agatha?  " 

"  Because,"  she  replied  fervently,  "  because  you 
know  everything ;  you  are  a  man  of  that  world,  and 
a  leader,  too ;  oh,  I  know  it,"  she  hurried  on  as  if  to 
ward  off  any  complacent  deprecation,  "  I  have  seen 
it  and  heard  of  it.  And  your  stories  of  the  things 
you  go  to — don't  you  suppose  I  have  drunk  them  all 
in,  and  longed  for  the  time  when  you  would  come 
home  and  tell  me  about  everything?  But  I — what 
real  chance  do  I  get  to  grow?  I  never  see  anybody 
nor  go  anywhere." 

"  But,  my  dear  Agatha,  you  mustn't  suppose  that 
136 


AN  IDOL  OF  CLAY 


you're  not  well  worthy  a  place  in  what  you  call  so- 
ciety. You  know  aunt  entertains  very  little,  and 
goes  about  to  houses  still  less." 

"  Oh,  I  realize  all  that,  and  I  know  it  is  not  her 
fault  at  all.  But  the  fact  is  that  I  do  not  go.  And 
when  I  see  you  so  sought  after,  and  such  a  figure 
among  them  all,  it  simply  makes  me  long  the  more 
for  a  wider  range  of  life.  There ;  does  that  sound 
stilted  and  absurd?  It's  the  best  way  I  can  put  it, 
though.  I  would  like  to  rule  as  Mrs.  Worth-Court- 
leigh  does.  Now  the  murder  is  out." 

Hamilton  stared  at  a  bit  of  pattern  in  the  carpet, 
and  made  no  answer.  The  mention  of  Mrs.  Worth- 
Courtleigh's  name  recalled  a  train  of  rather  un- 
pleasant circumstances  during  the  past  year.  In  the 
first  place  the  affair  with  Louise,  the  French  girl, 
had  been  terminated  all  too  abruptly  by  old  Michet, 
her  father,  who,  when  he  discovered  the  trend  of 
affairs,  removed  with  his  daughter  to  another  city. 

There  had  been  a  violent  scene  at  the  Michets'  one 
evening,  at  which  time  the  big  Frenchman  had  made 
unpleasant  references  to  that  sometimes  salutary  arti- 
cle, the  horsewhip.  However,  the  removal  obviated 
the  necessity  of  using  it,  and  Guy  considered  the  loss 
of  Louise  none  too  high  a  price  to  pay  for  escaping 
public  scandal.  There  being  no  other  special  at- 
traction for  the  time,  he  had  gravitated  back  to  Lucy 
Worth-Courtleigh,  whose  beauty  and  brilliancy  he 
still  found  potent.  Having  regained  her  courtier, 
she  kept  a  jealous  and  watchful  eye  upon  his  doings. 

It  was  for  this  reason  that  Guy  had  not  taken 
Agatha  about  as  much  as  he  would  have  liked.  He 

137 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


did  occasionally  escort  her  to  a  race  of  the  Curlew 
Bay  Yacht  Club  or  to  some  other  public  entertain- 
ment, for  which  favors  she  was  always  grateful  in 
simple  fashion.  For  his  part,  he  enjoyed  her  fresh, 
vigorous  mind  and  the  charm  of  her  personality. 
The  old  hostility  had  long  since  disappeared. 

He  realized,  being  by  no  means  a  fool,  that  this 
very  attractive  girl  was  in  turn  attracted  by  him. 
He  could  see  by  the  expression  of  her  eyes  when  he 
came  into  a  room  where  she  was  that  her  interest 
was  in  him  before  all  others.  And  yet  there  was  in 
that  look  a  something  that  baffled  him.  He  never 
saw  her  heart  nor  her  soul  within  those  liquid  brown 
depths — that  he  could  swear.  Admiration  was 
there,  but  not  of  a  man — that  nettled  him  some- 
times; it  was  more  the  semi-worship  of  an  imper- 
sonal being  standing  for  something  grand  and  far 
off. 

"  Ah,  well,"  he  said  at  last,  "  your  day  is  sure  to 
come,  Agatha.  Don't  try  to  hasten  it,  for  the 
throne  of  the  society  queen  is  generally  studded 
with  spikes.  As  for  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh — well, 
do  you  imagine  she's  entirely  happy  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  a  question  of  happiness,"  returned  the 
girl  stoutly.  "  If  I  ever  reach  such  things,  I  shall 
have  too  much  to  think  of  to  waste  time  trying  to  be 
happy.  Ah,  you  shall  see." 

The  intensity  of  her  words  and  manner  stirred 
the  smooth  man  of  the  world  into  a  species  of  won- 
derment. He  felt  something  more  in  this  deter- 
mination than  the  mere  childish  determination  to  be 
a  great  lady.  But  he  preferred  her  in  other  moods 

138 


than  this,  and  he  took  a  sure  means  to  bring  about 
the  change. 

"  Agatha,"  he  said  graciously,  "  there  is  to  be  an 
outing  of  the  Camera  Club  to-morrow  over  at  Fair- 
port  Point.  How  would  you  like  to  go  ?  " 

This  invitation  was  safe,  because  Mrs.  Worth- 
Courtleigh  was  away  in  Boston,  where  her  husband 
was  arguing  before  the  supreme  court. 

Again  the  childlike  gratitude. 

"  Oh,  I  should  love  to,"  she  answered. 

"  You  see  each  member  is  to  be  permitted  to  in- 
vite an  outsider.  You  are  my  outsider.  The  presi- 
dent— Tom  Harrington,  you  know — got  up  the 
scheme  to  boom  his  reelection.  We  are  all  going 
to  walk  over  to  Fairport  and  down  to  the  Point  by 
twos — imagine  Claybourne  with  a  woman! — and 
then  we  are  to  spread  ourselves  about  and  take  pic- 
tures. Each  member  is  to  take  ten,  and  there  are  to 
be  prizes  for  the  best  and  the  worst.  After  that 
there  is  to  be  a  clambake  by  old  Captain  Sykes. 
What  do  you  say  to  all  that?  " 

"  I  say  it's  just  splendid,"  she  cried,  "  and  you're 
so  kind  to  think  of  me." 

Never  had  Guy  seen  her  look  so  charming  as  now. 
Her  cheeks  were  flying  the  red  banner  of  excite- 
ment and  her  eyes  shone  with  anticipation.  She 
leaned  over  him  until  her  breath  fanned  his  face. 

He  suddenly  became  forgetful  of  everything  save 
that  a  tempting  girl  was  almost  in  his  arms.  He 
would  have  clasped  her  to  himself,  had  not  she, 
catching  a  glimpse  of  his  altered  countenance,  burst 
into  laughter. 

139 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  Why,  how  funny  you  look !  " 

The  spell  was  broken.  When  did  ever  ridicule 
or  levity  fail  to  cool  impending  passion? 

"  Do  I?  "  he  replied  feebly,  "  I  don't  know  why  I 
should." 

"  Oh,  but  you  did;  it's  gone  now." 

To  Hamilton  the  situation  was  perplexing  and 
unsatisfactory.  How  he,  a  man  of  wide  experience 
and  great  sang-froid,  had  come  so  near  to  making 
an  emotional  breakdown  with  this  young  and  still 
childlike  girl  was  more  than  he  could  explain  to  his 
accusing  self.  Mere  prettiness  would  never  have  so 
affected  him,  nor  yet  diablerie  of  the  purely  physical 
sort.  He  was  ordinarily  cool,  even  in  his  most  as- 
siduous conquests.  But  this  impulse  was  totally 
different;  there  was  in  it  impelling  force  he  had 
never  felt  before.  He  wondered  if  it  could  be  that 
love  so  contemptuously  waved  aside  by  his  friend 
Claybourne,  and  then  dismissed  the  suggestion  im- 
patiently. 

Agatha  had  turned  away,  and  was  gazing  out  at 
the  dying  day.  She  gave  no  sign  whatever  as  to 
whether  she  had  seen  his  almost  involuntary  intent 
to  enfold  her  and  had  evaded  it  by  a  laugh,  or 
whether,  as  she  said,  there  had  been  something  on 
his  face  to  excite  her  mirth.  He  finally  decided  that 
the  ways  of  women  were  past  finding  out,  and  that 
strict  analysis  of  Agatha  was  neither  pleasant  nor 
profitable. 

The  girl  first  caught  the  sound  of  wheels  coming 
up  the  driveway. 

"  There  comes  Mrs.  Copeland,"  she  said,  "  and 
140 


AN  IDOL  OF  CLAY 


I'm  very  glad  of  it,  for  I  am  hungry.  Heigho,  I 
wish  grandfather  could  ever  be  persuaded  to  stay 
to  dinner  with  us.  And  Hank — how  John  would 
enjoy  Hank  at  the  table." 

"  Well,  children,"  was  Mrs.  Copeland's  greeting 
as  she  came  briskly  into  the  room  a  moment  later, 
"  are  you  nearly  starved  ?  Why,  Agatha,  how 
bright  you  look." 

"  Oh,  it's  going  to  be  such  fun,"  cried  the  girl, 
"  and  7  am  going ;  Mr.  Hamilton  has  invited  me." 

"Where  pray?" 

"  The  Camera  Club  has  a  little  outing  to-mor- 
row," explained  Guy. 

"  Oh,  I  see.  More  nonsense,"  said  Mrs.  Cope- 
land,  with  a  smile. 

"  Dinner  is  served,"  announced  the  butler,  in  his 
most  sepulchral  tones. 

Over  the  soup  Mrs.  Copeland  looked  at  the  pair 
approvingly,  and  speculated  as  to  what  might  hap- 
pen were  Guy  only  different.  She  even  went  so  far 
as  to  hope  he  could  be  made  different  under  the  in- 
fluence of  such  a  girl  as  Agatha.  Stranger  things 
had  happened,  she  told  herself,  and  the  thought  gave 
her  deep  satisfaction.  She  would  leave  the  matter 
to  time. 


141 


CHAPTER  XV 

A   ROLLING   STONE 

THE  day  for  the  Camera  Club's  outing  was  one 
of  those  beautiful  gifts  of  mellow  October 
for  which  Old  Chetford  is  famed  above  all 
other  New  England  towns.  The  air  was  spicy  and 
just  tempered  to  the  degree  for  out-of-door  pleas- 
ure. If  it  were  the  intent  of  the  members  of  the 
select  organization  to  woo  nature  with  their  plates 
and  films,  that  gracious  lady  seemed  ready  to  lend 
herself  smilingly  to  the  process.  It  was  a  day  to  feel 
the  gladness  of  young  life,  to  send  the  blood  along 
its  course  in  leaps  and  bounds;  the  melancholy  of 
later  weeks  was  still  afar  off. 

Agatha's  spirits  were  more  than  characteristically 
buoyant  as  she  walked  along  with  Hamilton  to  the 
rendezvous  of  the  club.  He  was  a  fine  and  command- 
ing figure  in  his  fashionably  cut  outing  suit,  and  his 
air  was  that  of  a  man  who  knows  his  social  value 
and  his  personal  charm.  As  the  unsophisticated  girl 
at  his  side  stole  glances  at  him  from  time  to  time, 
she  was  sure  that  no  one  in  all  Old  Chetford  could 
compare  with  her  own  special  cavalier  in  the  manly 
graces,  and  she  felt  the  pride  that  is  but  natural  to  a 
young  woman  selected  by  so  notable  a  figure. 

142 


A  ROLLING  STONE 


At  the  tomblike  old  granite  City  Hall,  set  in  a 
tiny  square  of  grass,  a  dozen  or  more  of  the  members 
of  the  Camera  Club  had  already  assembled  when 
Agatha  and  Hamilton  arrived.  Guy  took  especial 
pleasure  in  introducing  his  pretty  companion  to  those 
leading  lights  of  the  club  whom  she  did  not  already 
know.  He  had  carefully  instilled  into  her  the  fact 
that  membership  was  one  of  the  most  prized  social 
distinctions  in  the  town,  and  she  felt  that  this  bright 
day  was  perhaps  the  beginning  of  her  career.  If  she 
had  any  trepidation,  however,  as  she  was  presented 
to  Thomas  Harrington,  Esq.,  a  fat,  heavy-jowled 
banker,  and  the  president  of  the  club,  she  gave  no 
evidence  of  it,  and,  indeed,  acquitted  herself  with 
such  tact  and  dainty  charm  that  Hamilton  was 
thoroughly  delighted. 

"  Charmed  to  meet  you,  Miss  Renier,"  said  Mr. 
Harrington  pompously,  adjusting  his  eyeglasses  the 
better  to  examine  her  face,  "  we've  all  heard,  of 
course,  of  Mrs.  Copeland's  protegee;  I  trust  you  will 
enjoy  our  little  trip.  I  warn  you  against  my  friend 
Hamilton,  however;  he's  a  dangerous  fellow,  very 
dangerous  indeed.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  " 

And  he  shook  his  fat  sides  and  dug  Guy  in  the 
ribs  much  to  the  latter's  disgust. 

Others  of  tke  "  Hill  "  set  were  on  hand,  notably 
Captain  Clay¥»urne,  who  had  permitted  himself  to  be 
brought  by  Miss  Mehitabel  Anastasia  Postlethwaite, 
a  maiden  of  maturity,  who  wore  a  cataract  of  little 
brown  curls  at  the  back  of  her  head  and  had  written 
a  book  of  poems. 

Claybourne  looked  uncomfortable.     For  years  it 

143 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


had  been  an  accepted  fact  that  Miss  Postlethwaite 
had  been  setting  her  cap  at  the  gallant  captain ;  so  far 
back,  in  fact,  that,  as  the  frivolous  expressed  it, 
"  she  outgrew  the  article  of  headgear  twenty  years 
ago." 

The  Reverend  Archibald  Greenacre,  with  an  im- 
mense tripod  camera,  under  whose  weight  he  fairly 
staggered,  hurried  up  a  little  later,  preceded  by  his 
tall  and  bony  wife,  whose  personal  appearance  might 
have  suggested  a  cause  for  his  own  meekness. 

Mr.  Alphonso  Emerson,  custodian  of  the  Old  Chet- 
ford  Public  Library,  was  paired  oft"  with  a  mis- 
chievous schoolgirl,  whose  love  of  fun  was  not  damp- 
ened in  the  least  by  her  diffident,  stammerng  escort. 
Mr.  Emerson  was  very  near  sighted  and  could  not 
see  to  take  a  picture,  but  that  mattered  little  to  him ; 
a  camera  was  a  good  enough  peg  to  hang  a  club  on, 
and  he  hailed  the  new  organization  as  distinctly 
educational.  His  wife,  a  simpering  lady  with  a 
youthful  taste  in  dress,  was  also  of  the  party,  es- 
corted by  Dr.  Hackett,  a  jolly  old  surgeon  who  had 
seen  service  in  the  Civil  \Var. 

The  company  at  last  completed  by  the  addition  of 
a  dozen  more  couples  of  local  distinction,  a  start 
was  made  for  Fairport.  The  sight  of  the  two  score 
persons  armed  with  hand  cameras,  which  were  not 
so  familiar  at  that  time,  was  especially  grateful  to 
the  street  urchins  along  the  water  front,  who  some- 
how lacked  that  reverence  for  ancestry  felt  by  most 
of  the  club  members.  A  few  of  the  bolder  formed 
themselves  into  a  whistling  band  and  took  upon 
themselves  the  honor  of  leading  the  procession. 

144 


A  ROLLING  STONE 


Others  furnished  gratuitous  information  of  an  un- 
pleasant nature  about  the  trials  of  photography,  and 
all  enjoyed  themselves  hugely  until  driven  off  by  an 
indignant  policeman. 

As  the  company  wended  its  dignified  way  over 
the  long  and  unsightly  bridge  that  led  across  the 
harbor  to  Fairport,  Agatha  stepped  from  the  ranks 
for  a  moment  and  looked  down  along  the  line  of 
wharves.  Yes,  there  was  the  old  "  Harpoon,"  dis- 
tinct because  of  its  spotless  deck,  and  there,  too, 
floated  the  flag  at  its  bow. 

"  Grandfather's  in,"  she  exclaimed  brightly,  "  and 
perhaps  Hank,  too.  Dear  old  ship !  Couldn't  we  take 
a  picture  of  it,  Mr.  Hamilton  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  Agatha,  not  now;  come  along,"  he  said 
rather  impatiently.  Then,  seeing  the  disappointment 
on  her  face,  he  added  kindly :  "  It's  too  far  off,  any- 
way. Perhaps  when  we  come  back  we  can  go  down 
and  get  a  good  shot  at  it." 

On  the  Fairport  side  Agatha  and  Hamilton, 
tempted  by  the  autumnal  beauty  of  the  fields,  left 
the  direct  road  to  the  fort  at  the  point  and  followed 
a  little  path  which  skirted  a  thicket  of  glowing  color. 

Here  was  Guy  in  his  cleanest  mental  attitude  to- 
ward women.  The  beautiful  day,  the  sylvan  and 
peaceful  scene,  the  presence  of  this  unspoiled  and 
charming  girl  at  his  side,  made  of  him  for  the  mo- 
ment a  man  of  fine  impulses.  As  he  looked  at 
Agatha,  brimming  over  with  pleasure  from  the  little 
outing  which  was  so  happily  varying  the  routine  of 
her  life,  he  could  not  help  a  comparison  of  her  with 
Lucy  Worth-Courtleigh ;  it  was  a  simple,  fragrant 

145 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


blush-rose  beside  a  brilliant  and  overpoweringly  in- 
tense exotic. 

The  girl  was  bubbling  over  with  a  pretty  curiosity 
that  led  her  to  ask  all  sorts  of  questions,  as  if  he  were 
a  great  repository  of  fact  and  fancy.  It  flattered  him, 
and  he  answered  good-naturedly  when  he  could  and 
with  humorous  evasion  when  he  could  not. 

"  What  about  your  pictures  ?  "  she  queried,  as  they 
walked  along  at  a  swinging  pace. 

"  Pictures ;  what  pictures  ?  "  he  replied  blankly. 

"  Why,  these,"  tapping  the  handsome  and  costly 
camera  slung  at  his  side. 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure — pictures — of  course.  Stupid  of 
me,  by  Jove.  Do  you  know  I'd  forgotten  all  about 
them.  It  would  be  the  proper  thing  to  take  a  picture, 
wouldn't  it?  But  what  shall  it  be?  " 

"  That,"  cried  Agatha,  pointing  to  an  opening  in 
the  trees  through  which  showed  a  bit  of  road  and 
a  quaint  red  farmhouse.  Beyond  the  russet  arch  of 
the  leaves  glimmered  the  deep  blue  of  the  bay.  It 
was  a  vista  to  delight  an  artist. 

"  It  is  pretty,"  returned  Hamilton,  unslinging  his 
camera.  "  I'm  a  bit  rusty  on  this  sort  of  thing,  but 
I  guess  I  can  make  it  work." 

"  O-o-h !  "  exclaimed  Agatha,  as  she  looked  into 
the  "  finder  "  at  Guy's  request  and  saw  the  lovely 
miniature  reproduction  of  the  scene.  "  Isn't  that 
fine?  A  little  to  the  right.  There !  Splendid !  " 

Her  hair  brushed  his  hand  as  she  bent  to  the 
camera  to  take  her  observation.  The  just  perceptible 
contact  tingled  like  electricity.  He  pressed  the  little 
knob,  and  at  the  dull  click  she  started  up. 

146 


A  ROLLING  STONE 


11  You — we  shall  certainly  win  the  prize  with  that ; 
the  others  cannot  hope  to  find  anything  so  beautiful." 

"  No  ?  They  might  if  they  were  here,"  he  replied, 
with  a  measured  emphasis  quite  foreign  to  his  usual 
devil-may-care  speech. 

"  Why,  what  could  they  see  more  beautiful  than 
that  picture  through  the  trees?  It's  like  our  Corot 
at  home." 

"  Just  stand  there  a  moment,"  he  said,  pushing 
Agatha  gently  into  the  opening  between  the  trees 
to  a  spot  where  the  sun  shone  brightly,  "  just  stand 
there,  and  you  can  help  me  win  the  prize." 

With  the  light  on  her  upraised,  wondering  face, 
the  girl  looked  like  a  dryad  of  the  autumn.  Her  hat 
had  fallen  back,  and  her  hair  was  blown  into  pictur- 
esque confusion  by  the  soft  wind  that  came  up  from 
the  Gulf  Stream.  She  was  the  incarnation  of  the 
bloom  of  life  made  more  exquisite  by  contrast  with 
the  dying  year. 

"  Why  how  can  7  help  you  ?  " 

Another  click,  and  a  light  laugh  from  Hamilton, 
who  replaced  his  camera  on  his  shoulder. 

"  No  more  pictures  to-day,"  he  said  jauntily. 

"  No  more?  I  thought  everyone  was  to  take  ten." 

"  Not  necessarily,  Agatha.  The  prize  picture  is 
here,"  tapping  the  black  box  confidently.  She  was 
not  convinced. 

"  How  can  you  tell  what  the  others  may  find  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  what  they  find ;  none  of  them  can 
have  you  in  the  foreground." 

"  Me?  What  has  that  to  do  with  it?  "  she  asked, 
with  complete  lack  of  coquetry. 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  Everything.  You  see — upon  my  soul,  Agatha 
Renier,  don't  you  know  that  you  are  a  beautiful 
girl?" 

She  felt  the  hot  blood  mount  to  her  face.  No  man 
save  her  grandfather  had  ever  told  her  such  a  thing 
before,  and  there  was  the  whole  world  of  difference 
between  his  simple-hearted  flattery  and  this  bold 
and  disquieting  admiration.  She  raised  her  eyes  and 
found  him  gazing  at  her  with  an  expression  she  could 
not  fathom,  but  was  sure  she  did  not  like. 

She  took  refuge  in  that  woman's  way  that  is  as 
old  as  the  sex:  an  apparent  ignoring  of  the  great 
salient  fact,  and  a  changing  of  the  dangerous  sub- 
ject to  the  commonplace. 

"  Don't  you  think  we  had  better  be  going  on  ?  " 
she  said,  "  It  is  quite  a  distance  to  the  fort." 

"  As  you  please,"  Guy  replied  stiffly,  as  with  some- 
thing very  like  a  sigh  he  followed  her  toward  the 
roadway. 

A  stone  wall  was  directly  across  their  path,  and 
Agatha  stepped  upon  it  with  little  care.  Her  one 
desire  was  to  return  to  the  party  and  so  be  rid  of  the 
awkwardness  that  had  so  suddenly  arisen  between 
them. 

"Wait;  let  me  help  you,"  said  Hamilton,  as  he 
stretched  out  his  hand  toward  hers. 

"  Oh,  no,  thank  you ;  I " 

The  little  deprecatory  laugh  was  interrupted  by  a 
dull  grind  as  one  of  the  stones  on  which  she  was 
standing  became  dislodged  and  rolled  to  the  ground. 
She  tottered  for  an  instant,  striving  to  regain  her 
balance,  and  uttered  a  sharp  cry  of  pain. 

148 


A  ROLLING  STONE 


"  You're  hurt,"  cried  Guy,  springing  toward  the 
swaying  girl,  whose  pale  and  drawn  face  told  the 
story  of  her  suffering. 

"  Yes,  I'm  afraid  I  am  a  little — I'm  such  a 
nuisance.  What " 

The  world  closed  in  around  her,  and  she  would 
have  fallen  had  not  Hamilton  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Fainted,  by  Jove,"  he  exclaimed,  gazing  down 
into  the  white,  lovely  face  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm. 
"Agatha!  Agatha!" 

But  Agatha  made  no  sound;  she  scarcely  gave  a 
sign  of  life. 

Then  this  courtly  man  of  the  world,  this  darling 
of  society,  this  first  gentleman  of  Old  Chetford  bent 
his  head  and  kissed  the  unresisting  lips.  As  ice  will 
sometimes  give  the  same  sensation  as  fire,  so  Agatha's 
cold  mouth  inflamed  his  passion.  Again  and  again 
he  kissed  her  until  an  incoherent  murmur  warned 
him  that  she  was  coming  back  to  consciousness. 

The  sound  of  wheels  from  a  passing  carriage 
startled  him.  He  realized  that  the  occupants  must 
have  witnessed  the  tableau  in  which  he  had  been  the 
only  active  participant,  and  he  wondered  who  they 
might  be.  He  had  little  time  for  speculation,  how- 
ever, for  Agatha  had  revived  and  he  knew  she  would 
need  immediate  attention. 

"  It's — sprained — I  believe,"  said  the  girl,  as  she 
tried  to  put  the  foot  on  the  ground,  and  cringed  with 
the  hurt.  "  Oh,  dear,  I  have  spoilt  your  day  by  my 
carelessness.  I'm  so  sorry." 

"  Never  mind  my  day,  Agatha ;  perhaps  it's  not 
spoilt  after  all.  Lean  on  me  and  we'll  get  to  the  red 

149 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


farmhouse  somehow.  There  I  can  hire  some  kind  of 
a  rig,  I  guess,  and  take  you  home.  Come  now; 
that's  right;  there's  a  brave  girl." 

******* 

"  I  always  thought  Guy  Hamilton  was  not  exactly 
the  right  sort,"  said  Robert  Worth-Courtleigh  to 
his  pretty  wife  as  they  rode  along  toward  the  fort 
"Who  was  that  girl?" 

"She?"  replied  the  lady  with  a  bitter  smile, 
"  she's  that  young  upstart  that  Mrs.  Copeland  is 
making  such  a  fool  of  herself  over." 

"  Oho !  The  girl  she  has  ad — practically  adopted. 
Joel  Stewart's  granddaughter.  I  always  understood 
she  was  not  of  the  common  kind." 

Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  made  no  reply,  but  as  they 
drove  on  to  the  point,  whither  the  lady  had  insisted 
on  being  taken  on  their  arrival  by  the  morning  train 
from  Boston,  the  sturdy  lawyer  wondered  what  was 
the  matter  with  his  buggy  that  such  a  continuous 
tap-tap-tap  should  be  given  forth  by  something  under 
the  floor. 

He  did  not  know  that  it  was  his  wife's  neat  little 
foot  forming  a  sort  of  safety-valve  for  her  sur- 
charged emotions,  nor  did  he  notice  that  her  hands 
were  clutched  so  tightly  together  that  she  was  obliged 
to  remove  her  torn  gloves  when  she  reached  the  scene 
of  the  Camera  Club's  festivities. 

But  before  she  arrived  at  the  fort,  Lucy  Worth- 
Courtleigh  had  outlined  her  plan  of  campaign  and 
had  decided  to  assume  the  offensive  at  the  earliest 
opportunity. 

ISO 


CHAPTER  XVI 

PHINEAS  SYKES'S  CLAMBAKE 

THE  constituent  parts  of  the  Camera  Club  had 
swept  down  the  road  toward  the  ruined  fort 
without  especial  comment  on  the  absence  of 
Agatha  and  Guy  Hamilton.  In  fact,  the  various  oddly 
assorted  couples  were  quite  sufficiently  engaged  with 
one  another  to  preclude  any  thought  of  deserters  at 
this  time. 

Captain  Claybourne,  for  instance,  was  inwardly 
groaning  as  Miss  Postlethwaite  was  making  him  the 
recipient — the  very  first,  she  gushingly  assured  him 
— of  her  "  Lines  to  a  Stranded  Dog-Fish,"  written 
during  her  summer  at  Quitno  beach. 

"  Ha,  hum ;  most  touching ;  beautiful,  very,"  he 
said  absent-mindedly  when  the  recital  had  ended. 
He  was  thinking  of  the  Attawam  Club  with  longing 
heart,  and  wondering  how  he,  a  pronounced  and  no- 
torious avoider  of  femininity,  should  have  been  led 
to  the  sacrifice  in  this  manner. 

Miss  Nelly  Nevins,  the  schoolgirl  to  whom  all  life 
was  a  joke,  succeeded  in  raising  dark  thoughts  in  the 
breast  of  Librarian  Emerson,  her  partner.  They  two 
chanced  to  be  the  rear-guard  of  the  company. 

"  Is  that — oh,  Mr.  Emerson,  I'm  afraid  it  is — is 
that  a  bull  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  trembling  voice,  as  they 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


passed  an  unusually  placid  cow  chewing  her  cud  in 
a  farm  door-yard. 

"  I  perceive  but  uncertainly,"  replied  the  nt'ar- 
sighted  gentleman,  hastening  his  pace  with  alacrity, 
"  but  the  animal  does  bear  a  resemblance  to  the  '  *au- 
rus  ingens  '  of  the  Romans.  Let  us  accelerate  our 
steps,"  and  the  frightened  man  fairly  dragged  the 
laughing  damsel  along  after  the  others. 

As  they  neared  their  destination,  Claybourne  be- 
came as  uneasy  as  his  philosophical  mind  would  per- 
mit over  the  continued  non-appearance  of  Hamilton 
and  Agatha  Renier. 

He  had  been  suspecting  for  some  time  that  Guy 
was  not  wholly  oblivious  to  the  charms  of  his  amtt's 
protegee,  and  as  the  young  man's  closest  friend  he 
had  warned  him  in  vague  fashion  once  or  twice,  al- 
ways to  be  met  with  a  laughing  disclaimer  that  did 
not  convince  him.  The  propinquity  of  a  pretty  young 
woman  was  to  him  always  a  position  of  danger,  and 
he  knew  Guy's  inflammable  nature. 

The  thud-thud  of  a  horse's  hoofs  and  the  rumble 
of  a  passing  carriage  interrupted  his  musing. 

"  Hello,  old  man,"  cried  a  gruffly  cheery  voice, 
as  the  equipage  rolled  by,  "  stir  along,  or  you'll  never 
get  there." 

Claybourne  caught  a  glimpse  of  Mrs.  Worth- 
Courtleigh's  face.  It  was  set  and  hard,  and  bore 
traces  of  some  unpleasant  experience.  He  wondered 
if  she  had  been  quarreling  with  her  husband,  and 
ended,  as  usual,  by  thanking  God  that  he  had  no 
wife.  Poor  Miss  Postlethwaite ! 

152 


PHINEAS   STKES'S  CLAMBAKE 

Having  reached  the  fort,  the  camera-armed  com- 
pany broke  ranks  and  entered  upon  the  work  of  the 
day.  The  rocks,  the  trees,  the  bay,  the  city  opposite, 
the  shipping  sliding  out  of  the  harbor,  the  far-off 
islands,  were  all  lured  into  the  little  black  boxes  from 
every  conceivable  point  of  view  and  with  all  degrees 
of  skill,  varying  from  the  cleverness  of  "  Tom  "  Har- 
rington, who  was  an  amateur  of  great  ability,  to  the 
wretched,  misfocussed  attempts  of  Mr.  Emerson. 
Then  they  photographed  each  other  in  groups  and 
pairs  and  ones. 

"  Where  is  dear  Mr.  Hamilton,"  asked  Mrs.  Emer- 
son at  last,  "  our  pictures  will  never  be  complete 
without  him  in  them  and  that  pretty  Renier  girl — 
what  can  have  kept  them  ?  " 

Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  surveyed  the  group 
through  half-closed  eyelids. 

"  Really,  I  think  his  time  is  quite  fully  occupied," 
she  said,  in  an  indolent  tone  that  gave  the  lie  to  the 
significance  of  her  words.  "  He  is  more  pleasantly 
engaged  than  he  could  possibly  be  down  here." 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense,"  puffed  Harrington,  grow- 
ing red  in  the  face  at  this  implied  slight  on  his 
cherished  club,  "  Hamilton  enjoys  photography  thor- 
oughly; he  told  me  so  himself." 

She  laughed  with  the  irritating  manner  of  superior 
knowledge. 

'  There  are  many  thing  he  enjoys  better,  '  Tom.' ' 

"  Such  as  what  ?  "  persisted  the  president  of  the 
Camera  Club,  with  his  accustomed  bovine  obtuseness. 

"  Oh — er— now  I  think  of  it,  I  believe  I  saw  Mr. 

153 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


Hamilton  and  that  girl  together  in  the  field  as  we 
passed  the  red  farmhouse — do  you  think  she's  pretty, 
'Tom'?" 

A  sudden  hush  fell  upon  the  company.  This 
speech  from  a  woman  of  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh's 
standing,  a  speech  so  unmistakable  in  its  virulence, 
astounded  most  of  them  who  knew  of  the  friendship 
between  the  lady  and  Guy.  Even  the  heavy-witted 
Harrington  saw  a  great  light. 

"  Whe-e-ew,"  he  whistled  under  his  breath,  "  so 

that's  the  jig,  is  it?  Well,  I'm .  And'I  warned 

her  against  him  this  very  morning.  Deep  girl.  The 
joke  seems  to  be  on  your  uncle  Thomas." 

"  Come  on,  people,"  he  cried  to  his  band  of  en- 
thusiasts, now  turned  into  a  coterie  of  incipient  scan- 
dal-mongers, "  let's  go  down  to  the  water  and  see  the 
bake." 

There  is  a  fascination  in  watching  the  preparations 
for  and  the  cooking  of  a  clambake  known  to  no  other 
culinary  process.  The  kitchen  is  one  of  Mother  Na- 
ture's fragrant  and  appetizing  places,  the  cooks  are 
generally  quaint  old  characters  and  skilful  providers 
and  the  odors  from  the  steaming  feast  can  be  matched 
by  nothing  else  in  all  the  world.  Add  a  day  of  en- 
ticing beauty  and  a  background  of  dreamy  charm 
such  as  our  club  messmates  had,  and  the  thing  is 
complete. 

The  mellow  old  Captain  Sykes,  best  manager  of  a 
"  bake  "  on  all  Curlew  Bay,  and  his  weazened  assist- 
ant, Artemas  Slickersley,  who  knew  the  ways  of 
clams  and  lobsters  as  well  as  any  man,  had  already 
begun  their  preparations.  They  had  built  a  roaring 

154 


PHINEAS  STREPS  CLAMBAKE 

fire  of  driftwood  in  a  sort  of  mammoth  saucer 
formed  carefully  of  large  stones;  great  piles  of  yel- 
low-green seaweed,  torn  from  the  rocks  along  the 
shore,  were  heaped  near  by,  flanked  by  the  bushels  of 
clams,  dozens  of  lobsters  and  boxes  of  other  appro- 
priate eatables  that  the  two  tars  had  previously 
brought  over  from  the  city  in  their  long  whale-boat. 

The  fire  was  now  only  a  glowing  mass  of  coals, 
and  Artemas  was  engaged  in  raking  off  the  larger 
pieces.  The  stones  were  fiercely  hot,  as  the  old  fel- 
low found  to  his  satisfaction  when  he  tested  them 
with  a  bit  of  dripping  seaweed. 

"  Ready,  Cap'n,"  he  squeaked  to  his  rotund  su- 
perior officer,  "  ye  caru't  make  no  mistake  now  ef  ye 
chuck  the  hull  grub  outfit  right  on." 

First  a  thin  layer  of  seaweed  was  placed  on  the 
stones,  and  then  the  big  baskets  of  clams  were 
emptied  of  their  loads.  Over  this  bed  of  shells  were 
deposited  the  writhing  green  lobsters,  angrily  pro- 
testing against  this  sort  of  martyrdom  by  closing  and 
opening  their  powerful  claws  in  the  vain  effort  to 
pinch  the  hands  of  the  wary  old  sailors. 

"  Lawbsters  is  like  women,"  volunteered  Sykes  as 
he  deftly  tossed  a  big  fellow  into  the  centre  of  the 
mass.  "  Handle  'em  jest  right,  an'  ye  don't  never 
have  no  trouble  with  'em.  But  git  a  bit  careless,  an' 
miss  yer  holt,  an'  yer  nipped  all-fired  hard." 

Another  sprinkling  of  the  seaweed,  and  then  came 
the  corn  in  the  husk,  a  late  growth  from  Captain 
Sykes's  own  garden.  Upon  this  was  heaped  a  big 
mass  of  the  green  ocean  plant.  Some  sweet  potatoes 
were  tucked  in  around  the  edges  on  the  very  rocks 

155 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


themselves,  and  a  great  canvas  was  stretched  over 
all  to  keep  the  heat  in.  Now  the  pile  was  left  to 
steam  itself  into  one  glorious  repast,  of  different 
parts,  to  be  sure,  but  blended  into  a  gastronomically 
harmonious  whole  by  the  touch  of  the  mighty  savor 
of  the  sea. 

With  ever  sharpening  appetites  the  club  folk  gath- 
ered around  the  fragrant  pile  to  watch  the  progress 
of  events.  Captain  Sykes  and  Artemas  were  plied 
with  questions. 

"  Oh,  Captain,"  cooed  Miss  Postlethwaite,  "  does 
it  hurt  the  poor  clams,  do  you  think,  to  be  put  on 
those  terrible  rocks  ?  " 

"  Wall,  ma'am,"  replied  the  veteran  urbanely,  "  I 
allus  suspects  that  it  does.  Cause  why  ?  The  critters 
opens  their  mouths  an'  gives  a  hiss  when  they  hits  the 
heat.  Ef  ye  puts  yer  head  down  cluss,  ye  can  hear 
'em  now." 

"  Why,  so  I  can,"  exclaimed  the  lady,  "  isn't  it 
horrible.  I  don't  think  I  ever  can  eat  one  again." 
And  she  then  and  there  determined  that  her  next 
poem  should  have  for  its  central  thought  the  tyranny 
of  man  as  applied  to  the  helpless  bivalve. 

"  Now,  Captain,"  said  Harrington  with  his  best 
air  of  patronage,  "  we  want  you  and  Artemas  to 
stand  up  by  the  '  bake  '  and  be  photographed.  We 
are  all  going  to  snap  you  at  once." 

"  Sho,  now,"  returned  the  old  man,  "  I  weren't 
never  took  by  anybody  in  my  life,  nor  Artemas, 
nuther,  I'll  be  bound." 

"  Hain't  I  ? "  cried  Slickersley  triumphantly, 
"  wall,  thet's  jest  whar  yer  off'n  yer  bearin's,  ship- 

156 


PHINEAS  STREPS  CLAMBAKE 

mate.  When  I  was  up  to  Bosting  three  year  ago  I 
went  down  ter  the  beach,  an'  was  took  on  tin  with  a 
fine  gal  I  met  who  said  I  made  her  think  of  her  pa. 
She  said  as  how  she'd  pay  fer  the  picters,  an'  I  gin  her 
ten  dollars  ter  git  changed,  but  jest  then  a  whistle 
blew  an'  she  said  she  had  ter  run  ter  ketch  her  train, 
an'  I  ain't  never  seen  her  nor  the  money  sence." 

A  roar  of  laughter  greeted  the  ancient  mariner's 
tale. 

"  Shet  up,  ye  ol'  fool,"  growled  Sykes,  "  wanter 
gin  yerself  away  afore  all  these  swells,  do  ye?  But 
we  ain't  got  much  on  fer  clothes,  Mr.  Harrington. 
Ef  we'd  a-known " 

"  No,  no,"  cried  the  ladies,  "  just  as  you  are,  by 
all  means.  You  are  so  much  more  picturesque." 

"  Wall,  all  right,"  said  the  captain  good-naturedly, 
though  a  little  in  doubt  as  to  whether  he  had  been 
complimented  or  not,  "fire  away;  Artemas  an'  me 
will  do  our  duty  by  ye." 

The  members  formed  a  semicircle,  and  all  got  their 
cameras  in  position.  The  captain  and  his  thin  mate 
stood  at  either  side  of  the  steaming  pile,  and  set 
their  faces  into  wooden  smiles.  Then  Mr.  Harring- 
ton gave  the  signal,  forty  clicks  resounded  like  the 
firing  of  some  midget  battery,  and  the  deed  was  done. 

Captain  Sykes  lifted  an  edge  of  the  canvas,  and 
took  a  long  professional  sniff.  Then  he  poked  about 
a  bit  until  the  red  claw  of  a  lobster  appeared  to  view. 

"In  jest  five  minoots  more,"  he  declared,  "  ye'll 
be  a-wrastlin'  with  the  best  grub  the  Lord'll  ever  gin 
ye  in  this  ere  world  of  our'n." 

In  the  meantime  stakes  had  been  driven  into  the 

157 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


ground  near  by,  and  cross  pieces  nailed  on  them. 
Over  these  were  placed  long  boards,  and  a  rude  but 
substantial  table  was  the  result.  This  was  now 
spread  with  coarse  earthen  dishes  and  cups  and  pew- 
ter eating  utensils.  Artemas  had  made  coffee  in  a 
gigantic  pot  that  had  once  helped  cheer  a  crew  of 
whale  hunters  beyond  the  Arctic  circle. 

"  Haul  off,"  came  the  cheery  cry  from  the  captain. 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir,"  piped  Artemas,  and  in  a  minute  or 
two  the  luscious  treasures  of  the  deep  were  un- 
covered. 

There  was  a  rush  for  seats  and  a  great  rattling  of 
plates,  knives  and  forks.  Some  of  the  men  served 
as  waiters,  bringing  up  the  clams  in  immense  bread- 
pans  and  the  lobsters  in  little  wooden  trays.  The 
Reverend  Archibald  Greenacre,  who  conceived  the 
idea  that  he  ought  to  be  helpful,  was  among  the 
most  enthusiastic  of  the  servitors.  >  Not  even  the  fact 
that  he  lost  his  balance  while  stooping  to  gather  some 
clams  from  the  "  bake,"  and  burned  his  hands  on  the 
hot  stones  as  he  fell,  could  quench  his  ardor.  He 
even  overheard  himself  called  a  "  lubber  "  by  the 
disgusted  Captain  Sykes  without  making  any  protest, 
so  full  of  the  joy  of  assisting  was  he. 

But  his  happiness,  like  other  joys  of  life,  as  he  had 
often  preached,  was  transitory,  for  when  he  took  his 
place  at  the  table  to  indulge  in  his  favorite  creature 
comforts  of  clams  and  melted  butter,  his  wife  whis- 
pered to  him  with  her  air  of  authority: — 

"  Archibald,  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  tells  me  that 
she  saw  Mr.  Hamilton  kiss  that  girl  of  his  aunt's.  I 
don't  know  whether  to  believe  her  or  not ;  but  it's  our 

158 


PHINEAS  STKES'S  CLAMBAKE 

duty  to  find  out.  Get  Worth-Courtleigh  one  side  by 
and  by,  and  ask  him ;  he  tells  the  truth,  anyway." 

The  clergyman's  heart  sank.  He  was  a  gentleman 
at  heart,  and  had  little  taste  for  such  an  errand.  But 
his  wife's  personality  was  so  much  stronger  than  his 
own,  and  her  income  so  much  larger,  that  he  had 
fallen  into  a  slough  of  unquestioning  obedience.  So, 
after  the  feast  had  been  eaten  and  pronounced  the 
best  in  Old  Chetford's  history,  he  sought  out  Worth- 
Courtleigh,  who  was  alone  by  the  water  smoking 
a  cigar. 

"  Greenacre,"  said  the  bluff  lawyer,  after  hearing 
the  rector's  mission,  "  what  I  saw  or  did  not  see  I 
conceive  to  be  no  one's  business  but  my  own.  When 
I  enter  the  profession  of  gossips,  I  shall  withdraw 
from  the  bar — and  my  practice  is  quite  large  at  pres- 
ent. Have  a  cigar." 

But  he  wondered  at  his  wife's  injudicious  dropping 
of  the  story,  entirely  innocently  of  course,  and  he 
sighed  to  think  what  trouble  her  thoughtlessness 
might  arouse. 


159 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A   SHATTERED   IDOL 

KEPT  within  the  Bristol  Street  mansion  for 
the  next  week  or  two  by  her  sprained  ankle, 
Agatha  found  herself  a  very  cheerful  pris- 
oner. Guy  was  careful  to  see  that  she  was  pro- 
vided with  the  rarest  of  flowers  and  the  daintiest  of 
sweetmeats,  to  both  of  which  tributes  her  heart 
warmed  instinctively.  He  himself  devoted  much 
time  to  her  pleasure,  and  talked  and  read  to  her  with 
all  the  ability  he  possessed. 

He  looked  upon  himself  as  in  a  certain  sense  the 
cause  of  her  accident ;  he  even  experienced  a  feeling 
of  shame  sometimes  as  he  remembered  the  kisses 
he  had  pressed  upon  her  lips  under  circumstances 
which  he  would  have  been  quick  to  condemn  in  any- 
one else.  He  admitted  freely  now  the  fascination  of 
the  girl,  yet  something  kept  in  restraint  his  impulse 
to  make  open  love  to  her. 

"  Confound  it,"  he  said  to  himself  one  day,  as  he 
watched  Agatha's  lovely  profile  half-eclipsed  by  a 
book  she  was  reading,  "  I  want  her,  and  yet  I  can't 
tell  her  so.  What's  the  matter  with  me  ?  I  never  was 
troubled  in  that  line  before." 

Then  the  face  of  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  rose  into 
160 


A  SHATTERED  IDOL 


his  mental  perspective,  filled  with  passion,  as  he  knew 
it  would  be,  should  he  declare  for  another  and  a  purer 
allegiance.  He  knew  that  he  would  be  a  coward 
before  the  fury  of  a  woman  scorned,  and  he  felt  no 
taste  for  such  self-debasement. 

"  Oh,  Lord,"  he  thought,  "  why  do  we  men  always 
get  into  these  infernal  messes  ?  Why  can't  we  all  be 
Claybournes,  with  his  '  let  'em  alone,  and  they'll  let 
you  alone '  ?  I'd  like  to  cut  the  whole  business,  and 
I  might  if  it  weren't  for  the  money." 

His  uneasiness  had  been  greatly  augmented  that 
same  day  by  the  receipt  of  a  little  envelope  whose 
perfume  he  would  have  known,  even  had  there  been 
no  superscription.  The  note  inside  read : — 

"  Meet  me  at  two  this  afternoon  at  H }s  with- 
out fail.  There  is  something  of  great  importance  I 
wish  to  say  to  you.  L." 

He  cursed  fate  again,  but  he  knew  he  would  obey ; 
he  felt  that  back  of  the  curt  command  was  a  threat 
that  admitted  of  no  parleying.  He  would  face  the 
music  and  learn  the  worst  at  once. 

He  little  knew  of  the  struggles  that  tore  the  heart 
of  Lucy  Worth-Courtleigh  before  she  decided  to 
send  for  him.  Ever  since  the  fleeting  sight  of  that 
kiss  in  the  fields  her  wrath  had  made  such  sport  of 
her  that  even  her  husband  noticed  that  something 
was  amiss,  and  anxiously  asked  if  she  were  ill. 

In  the  seclusion  of  her  chamber  she  chewed  the 
bitter  cud  of  reflection,  until  at  times  she  could  have 
screamed  aloud.  Pride  urged  her  to  let  him  go  with 

161 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


scornful  silence;  but  the  jealousy  born  of  a  powerful 
infatuation  spurred  her  to  meet  him  face  to  face  and 
see  if  there  were  any  glimmer  of  excuse  for  his 
conduct. 

And  so,  at  the  appointed  hour,  this  leader  of  Old 
Chetford's  "  modern  "  set  and  this  hero  of  social 
romance  found  one  another. 

The  place  of  their  rendezvous  was  a  public  house 
at  the  northern  end  of  Bristol  Street  known  as 
"  Howard's."  It  had  once  been  the  home  of  a  rich 
old  recluse,  and  even  now  it  looked  like  a  private 
estate,  set  far  back  from  the  street  in  a  heavy  growth 
of  trees  and  surrounded  by  a  high  and  dark  stone 
wall.  Its  reputation  for  good  fare  was  unimpeach- 
able, but  for  all  that  the  women  who  had  occasion 
to  visit  the  place  generally  did  so  heavily  veiled. 
The  kind  who  would  not  have  cared  whether  their 
faces  were  seen  or  not  were  strictly  debarred  by  the 
proprietor,  a  retired  English  army  man,  who  prided 
himself  greatly  on  the  quality  of  his  patronage. 

In  a  little  private  parlor  of  "  Howard's  "  there 
had  been  a  violent  scene  between  the  two,  so  violent 
that  the  landlord  had  to  come  and  gently  beg  for  less 
noise.  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  threw  all  caution  to 
the  winds,  and  railed  at  the  unfortunate  Guy  like  a 
fish-wife. 

"  So  you  have  found  a  new  toy  to  take  up  your 
time,  have  you  ?  "  she  said  when  he  entered  the  room, 
"  a.  new  woman  to  kiss,  another  to  add  to  your  string 
of  conquests,  you  liar.  You'd  deny  it,  would  you? 
Well,  I  saw  you  put  your  lips  upon  that  nameless 
creature  from  the  wharves,  over  in  Fairport  that  day. 

162 


'Come  now,    Lucy;    Agatha's   a  good    girl." 


A  SHATTERED  IDOL 


Dear  little  innocent!  She  believes  you,  of  course, 
trusts  you  implicitly,  relies  on  your  honor,  and  all 
that.  Faugh ! " 

Staggered  at  this  .revelation  of  her  knowledge, 
Guy  shifted,  stammered  and  temporized  in  a  dazed 
and  helpless  fashion,  which  fed  the  woman's  wrath 
the  more.  He  could  not  tell  the  truth  about  the  in- 
cident of  the  kisses,  and  thus  clear  Agatha,  for  he 
knew  that  would  turn  ridicule  upon  himself,  and 
make  his  transgression  all  the  more  unforgivable. 

He  rang  for  brandy,  drank  a  large  draught,  and 
then  stared  stupidly  at  the  handsome  termagant  as 
she  went  on  with  her  bitter  tirade. 

"  Oh,  you  are  very  much  relieved,  no  doubt,"  she 
cried,  "  to  be  free  of  me  and  to  find  fresh  material 
for  your  peculiar  style  of  wooing.  And  they  say  this 
girl  is  fresh  and  unspotted  with  the  world,  and  all 
that  sickening  stuff.  I  say  she's " 

"  Come,  now,  Lucy ;  Agatha's  a  good  girl,"  he  re- 
monstrated. 

"  Bah !  Tell  me  that  about  a  girl  who  lets  you  kiss 
her  in  a  country  by-way.  She's  of  vile  origin,  and 
she  doesn't  belie  her  stock — But  you !  "  she  cried  with 
passionate  pleading,  "  how  could  you  do  it,  remem- 
bering me  ?  How  could  you,  how  could  you  ?  " 

Something — perhaps  the  sight  or  the  influence  of 
the  brandy — suggested  a  means  of  escape  to  Hamil- 
ton. He  accepted  it  with  gratitude. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  truth,  Lucy,  and 
you'll  see  that  I — that  you  have  been  treating  me 
very  unjustly.  I'm  ashamed  to  say  it,  but  the  fact 
is  that  before  I  started  on  that  infernal  camera  ex- 

163 


MISS  PETTICOATS 

pedition  I  went  to  the  club  and  got  to  drinking; 
drank  altogether  too  much  and  wasn't  myself  at  all. 
What  I  did  in  the  field  I  hardly  remembered  after- 
ward. Do  you  think  I  could  forget  you  in  my  right 
mind?  Never,  Lucy;  I  swear  it." 

This  bit  of  diplomacy  on  Guy's  part  was  well 
timed.  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh's  anger  had  passed 
its  climax,  and  in  the  reaction  came  tenderer  thought 
of  the  man  who  so  filled  her  horizon.  Partly  because 
she  wished  to,  and  partly  because  it  seemed  plausible, 
she  believed  the  story,  and  gradually  came  to  her 
normal  frame  of  mind. 

To  clinch  the  advantage  and  make  her  quiet,  if 
nothing  more,  Guy  added  a  quite  gratuitous  lot  of 
vows  and  protestations  of  fealty,  which  he  argued, 
would  not  hurt  him,  and  would  do  wonders  for  her 
peace  Nof  mind. 

She  went  home  completely  mollified  as  regards 
Guy,  but  more  determined  than  ever  in  her  hatred 
of  Agatha,  who,  she  reasoned,  must  have  taken  ad- 
vantage of  her  escort's  condition  with  some  deep 
intent  of  bettering  herself — perhaps  a  future  mar- 
riage. That,  she  felt,  she  could  and  would  prevent. 

Hamilton  sought  the  sheltering  fold  of  the  At- 
tawam  Club  as  soon  as  the  interview  was  over.  He 
felt  that  he  needed  some  antidote  against  the  nerve- 
racking  experience  of  the  afternoon,  and,  as  usual, 
he  relied  upon  alcohol  to  supply  the  remedy. 

He  drank  heavily  there,  but  no  resulting  joy  came 
from  the  potations.  Instead  there  was  only  a  sodden 
discontent  with  life  and  its  burdens.  He  remem- 
bered a  new  French  romance  at  home  in  the  library, 

164 


A  SHATTERED  IDOL 


and  he  determined  to  go  and  read  it  that  he  might 
forget  his  woes. 

Without  seeing  anyone  he  went  directly  to  the 
library  in  search  of  his  book.  There  he  found 
Agatha,  who  had  been  assisted  to  a  seat  near  the 
window,  and  was  now  reading  by  the  last  rays  of  the 
declining  sun.  She  turned  to  him  with  a  bright 
smile  and  a  cheerful  welcome. 

With  the  virago  wrath  of  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh 
still  ringing  in  his  ears,  he  looked  at  this  embodiment 
of  purity  and  truth,  and  felt,  even  through  his  drink- 
dulled  brain,  a  deeper  emotion  than  had  ever  yet 
stirred  within  him.  Coupled  with  this  was  a  sensu- 
ous admiration  for  the  girl's  warm  and  radiant  love- 
liness, a  feeling  that  would  no  longer  be  controlled 
by  what  he  considered  mere  conventionality. 

He  steadied  his  voice  as  best  he  could,  and  began 
to  talk  to  her  in  a  vein  he  had  rarely  used  before. 
He  spoke  of  her  gifts,  of  her  opportunities  for  storm- 
ing the  fortress  of  life ;  he  led  her  to  talk  of  herself, 
of  her  aspirations,  of  her  visions  for  the  future.  In 
all  this  there  was  on  his  part  a  persistent  coupling 
of  him  and  her  that  she  could  not  fathom.  He  spoke 
of  their  future  now. 

"  Yes,  m'dear,"  he  burst  forth,  "  we'll  show  'em 
that  they  can't  ride  over  us,  not  one  of  'em.  We'll 
show  'em  that  we  don't  care  for  their  frippery  mo- 
rality that's  generally  a  sham  from  the  word  go. 
None  of  their  musty  Puritanism  for  us,  eh, 
Agatha?" 

"  But  why — why  should  you  speak  so  of  me — of 
yourself?  "  she  asked  in  large-eyed  wonder. 

165 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  Oh,  hang  it,  don't  make  it  so  hard  for  a  fellow. 
Don't  you  know,  can't  you  guess  that  I  love  you  ?  " 
t  Had  the  aristocratic  roof  of  the  Copeland  mansion 
fallen  about  her  ears,  Agatha  could  have  scarcely 
been  more  astonished.  Keen  of  perception  though 
she  was,  she  had  seen  nothing  heretofore  to  suggest 
such  a  thing.  Hamilton  had  been  to  her  too  imper- 
sonal, too  much  an  ideal  standing  quite  beyond  her, 
to  dream  of  as  a  lover.  Now  she  heard,  but  did  not 
credit  her  senses. 

"  That  you — love  me?  "  she  gasped. 

She  was  so  startled  that  when  Guy  drew  her 
closely  to  himself,  throwing  an  arm  about  her 
shoulder,  she  made  no  effort  to  release  herself. 

"  Is  it  such  a  surprise,  Agatha  ? "  he  asked 
hoarsely,  bending  his  head  so  closely  to  hers  that 
their  faces  almost  touched. 

At  that  moment  she  knew  the  truth. 

She  slipped  from  his  grasp,  and  faced  him  with  an 
air  of  defiance. 

"  Agatha !  Have  you  no  word  for  me?  I  love  you 
— love  you.  You  must  know  what  that  means." 

"  Mr.  Hamilton,  I  am  truly  sorry ;  but  I  fear  you 
are  not  quite — not  quite  yourself  to-day." 

"  Not  quite  myself,  eh  ?  Well,  how  can  a  man  be 
himself  when  he's  in  love?  But  what  do  you  mean?  " 

"  I  mean  that  you  have  been  drinking,"  she  an- 
swered steadily. 

"  Well,  and  what  if  I  have?  "  he  queried,  with  a 
harsh  laugh. 

"  Nothing,  except  that  the  words  you  have  just 
used  were  evidently  inspired  by  liquor  and  not  by 

166 


A  SHATTERED  IDOL 


your  heart.    They  are  an  insult,  under  such  circum- 
stances, which  you  must  not  repeat." 

By  the  aid  of  table  and  chairs  she  made  her  way 
to  the  bell-cord,  and  before  Guy  had  fully  realized 
what  she  was  doing,  rang  for  the  butler.  That 
mournful  functionary,  after  a  significant  glance  at 
Hamilton,  assisted  her  to  her  room  with  elaborate 
ceremony. 

There,  in  its  pure  seclusion,  the  girl  wept  in  youth- 
ful fashion  over  the  fall  of  her  cherished  idol.  She 
had  hitherto  admired  Guy  as  a  "  gentleman,"  a  title 
which  to  her  stood  for  a  mystical  sort  of  being,  the 
human  symbol  of  nobility  of  nature  and  the  per- 
fection of  courtesy. 

And  now !  As  with  her  childhood's  doll,  she  had 
found  that  her  ideal  was  stuffed  with  sawdust.  He 
had  become  as  common  as  the  commonest  by  his 
insult  to  her  pride.  To  be  made  love  to  by  a  drunken 
man !  It  was  incredibly  vile,  something  of  which  she 
felt  she  ought  to  purge  herself,  like  the  Hebrew  wo- 
men of  old.  Love  ?  She  knew  nothing  of  it,  and  if 
this  were  one  of  its  manifestations,  she  wanted  never 
to  hear  of  it  more. 

Being  left  to  his  own  gloomy  reflections  in  the 
library  by  this  girl  who,  strangely  enough,  was  not 
honored  by  his  advances,  Guy  tried  to  read  the 
French  romance  which  had  innocently  precipitated 
the  latest  trouble  of  a  troubled  day.  But  the  amours 
of  the  type  of  heroine  in  which  he  usually  delighted 
had  no  power  to  charm  him  now,  and  at  last  he  tossed 
the  book  into  a  corner  and  quit  the  house  for  his 
great  mecca,  the  club. 

167 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


There  he  found  a  rather  congenial  crowd,  and 
again  drank  more  than  was  necessary.  Yet  he  could 
not  shake  off  the  thought  of  Agatha's  haunting  eyes 
and  the  vision  of  her  proud  face. 

"  By  heaven,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  almost  be- 
lieve I'd  have  asked  her  to  marry  me." 


168 


DINNER  that  evening  was  not  a  specially  en- 
livening meal  at  Mrs.  Copeland's.   Guy  did 
not  return,  and  his  aunt  missed  the  bits  of 
conversation  that  were  wont  to  fly  back  and  forth 
between  her  nephew  and  Agatha.     As  for  the  girl, 
she  was  as  dumb  as  the  oysters  with  which  they 
began  their  well  ordered  repast,  nor  did  she  arouse 
from  her  silence  with  any  real  effectiveness,  although 
she  struggled  bravely  once  or  twice. 

"  Well,  well,  my  dear,"  at  last  exclaimed  the  old 
woman  in  a  sort  of  mock  consternation,  "  what's 
happened  to  your  tongue  ?  Off  its  hinges,  I  daresay. 
Ah,  it  takes  Guy  to  make  it  wag,  not  a  crusty  old 
creature  like  me.  Odd  he  didn't  come  in  to  din- 
ner. John  said  he  went  out  not  half  an  hour  before 
the  bell  rang.  Did  he  say  anything  to  you  ?  " 

"  No — not  about  dinner,"  returned  the  girl,  whose 
vivid  cheeks  she  feared  would  signal  something  to 
the  keen  Mrs.  Copeland. 

"  Nor  where  he  was  going?  " 

"  No,  not  a  word." 

"  It's  strange  he  should  go  off  so  near  dinner 
time,"  said  Mrs.  Copeland,  looking  searchingly  at 
her  pretty  vis-a-vis. 

169 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  Very,"  assented  Agatha,  and  the  meal  concluded 
with  no  more  light  on  the  whereabouts  of  the  wander- 
ing Guy. 

"  Play  me  something,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Copeland, 
as  she  called  for  lights  in  the  drawing-room. 

The  wretched  girl  was  in  no  mood  for  the  piano, 
but  she  sat  down  dutifully  and  opened  a  folio  of 
music  at  random. 

It  chanced  that  Schubert's  "  Death  and  the 
Maiden  "  came  to  the  surface,  and  she  began  to  play 
it  gently. 

The  tender  melancholy  of  the  music,  the  haunting 
beauty  of  its  harmonies  and  the  suggestion  of  its 
name  were  too  much  for  Agatha  in  her  overstrung 
state  of  mind ;  she  was  the  maiden,  and  the  "  death  " 
was  the  death  of  that  maiden's  dream  of  a  hero. 
Tear^  filled  her  eyes  and  she  could  not  go  on. 

"  I — I'm  not  feeling  very  well  to-night,  Mrs.  Cope- 
land,"  she  said  brokenly.  "  I  don't  think  I'll  play 
any  more,  if  you'll  excuse  me." 

"Tut,  tut,"  the  old  lady  thought,  "nerves!  A 
new  thing  for  Agatha.  There's  something  back  of  all 
this,  I'll  be  bound.  But  I'll  let  nature  work."  Then 
she  said  aloud  kindly : — 

"  Well,  well,  my  dear,  you  needn't  play  any  more, 
of  course.  Get  a  good  sleep  to-night,  and  I  don't 
doubt  you'll  be  all  right  in  the  morning.  You  want 
to  be,  for  Mr.  Harding  is  coming,  you  know." 

Yes,  Mr.  Harding  was  coming,  and  Agatha  felt  a 
sense  of  satisfaction  at  the  knowledge.  He  was  to 
be  relied  upon,  in  any  event.  Not  being  on  a  ped- 
estal, he  could  not  fall.  She  liked  him  heartily  and 

170 


«  GOD  ALMIGHTrS  GENTLEMAN" 

honestly,  and  enjoyed  his  tuition — which  had  now 
come  to  be  more  the  discussion  of  equals  than  she 
realized. 

Once  behind  the  locked  door  of  her  bedroom,  she 
indulged  in  the  luxury  of  a  clearing-up  shower  of 
tears,  and  then  she  sat  down  with  her  Tennyson, 
who  was  to  be  the  subject  of  to-morrow's  talk,  and 
tried  to  read.  But  not  even  the  imagery  and  beauty 
of  the  lines  could  hold  the  girl's  thoughts  for  long. 
The  handsome  face  of  Guy,  changed  into  something 
coarse  and  mean,  kept  arising  before  the  printed 
page. 

"  How  dared  he?  "  she  asked  herself.  What  had 
she  done  to  give  him  occasion  to  believe  that  she 
could  be  treated  with  less  respect  than  other  women. 
She  did  not  know,  of  course,  of  his  escapades  in 
lower  life.  She  judged  his  usual  treatment  of  the 
sex  by  what  she  saw  him  do  in  his  own  sphere. 

Even  if  he  did  love  her,  she  mused, — and  the 
thought  gave  her  no  thrill  such  as  she  had  learned 
to  know  in  fiction — he  had  no  right  to  tell  her  so  in 
such  a  fashion  and  in  such  a  condition.  Had  he  been 
himself,  and  had  he  asked  her  to  marry  him,  she 
might  have  hesitated  in  her  answer;  she  might  have 
doubted  whether  the  tempestuous  love  of  romance, 
which  she  knew  she  did  not  have,  was  of  the  right 
sort,  and  she  might  not  have  said  him  nay. 

But  now  Guy's  condemnation  was  complete.  For- 
giveness and  forgetfulness,  the  ordinary  cures  for 
the  little  lapses  of  mankind,  would  not  come  in  this 
case,  for  the  truth  'was  clear  to  her  mind  that  in  that 
scene  in  the  library  was  revealed  the  true  Guy  Hamil- 

171 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


ton.  Forgiveness  can  never  change  a  fact;  forget- 
fulness  is  a  glossing  that  cannot  be  trusted. 

There  was  to  Agatha  a  very  real  and  poignant 
grief  in  this,  mingled  with  strong  resentment  that 
a  man  of  her  own  household  should  be  the  one,  of  all 
others,  to  destroy  a  bright  illusion.  She  wondered 
if  all  the  men  of  the  set  in  which  he  shone  were  as 
empty  and  false  as  he. 

She  went  to  bed  early,  and  after  a  bit  more  of 
self-communion  in  the  dark,  fell  into  sound  sleep 
with  the  locket  in  which  her  mother's  face  was 
framed  clasped  close  to  her  heart.  Once  she  awoke 
and  thought  she  heard  an  unusual  noise  in  the  hall 
below.  She  knew  it  was  Guy  coming  home.  Had 
she  seen  him,  her  disgust  would  have  been  complete. 

Next  morning  Agatha  was  up  with  the  sun, 
humming  gaily  as  she  busied  herself  with  the  pretty 
mysteries  of  her  toilet.  Her  mood  matched  the  crisp 
and  glowing  morning,  and  gone  was  all  the  dark 
melancholy  of  the  night  before.  As  she  passed 
through  the  lower  hall  on  her  way  to  the  breakfast- 
room,  she  caught  sight  of  Guy's  hat  and  coat  on  the 
hat-tree. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Hamilton,"  she  said  making 
an  elaborate  courtesy  to  the  articles  of  apparel,  "  I'll 
venture  to  say  that  you  do  not  feel  as  well  as  I  do 
this  morning." 

The  owner  of  the  hat  and  coat  did  not  appear  until 
Agatha  and  Mrs.  Copeland  had  breakfasted,  and 
then  he  made  a  wry  face  at  his  egg  and  dallied  in- 
effectually with  his  coffee. 

"  What  an  ass  I  must  have  been,"  he  mused  as  he 
172 


«  GOD  ALMIGHTY'S  GENTLEMAN" 

tried  to  find  something  of  interest  in  the  morning 
paper,  "  and  how  that  young  spitfire  did  '  my  lady ' 
it  over  me.  As  I  remember  it,  I  almost  thought  my- 
self in  love  au  serieux.  I'll  square  accounts  with  that 
girl  some  time,  and  give  her  a  lesson  in  manners. 
But  no  open  rupture  now ;  Aunt  Sarah  mustn't  hear 
of  yesterday's  affair.  If  one  of  us  is  to  leave  Bristol 
Street,  it  mustn't  be  your  humble  servant." 

Now  Guy  was  in  great  physical  need  of  a 
"  bracer,"  as  he  termed  it,  but  he  thought  it  best  to 
see  Agatha  before  he  left  the  house,  and  test  her 
frame  of  mind  as  to  himself. 

He  went  to  the  drawing-room,  where  he  found  her 
dusting  the  piano  and  arranging  the  music,  arrayed 
in  the  daintiest  of  caps  and  the  most  fascinating  of 
muslin  aprons.  Guy  had  to  admit  that  she  was  a 
delightful  picture.  Alas,  he  moralized,  that  such  a 
fiery  nature  should  be  concealed  beneath  that  fair 
exterior.  He  was  spared  the  task  of  framing  an 
introductory  speech,  for  she  was  the  first  to  offer 
greeting. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Hamilton,"  she  said  se- 
renely, but  with  no  trace  of  interest  in  her  voice. 

"  Good  morning,  Agatha,"  and  for  the  next 
minute  or  two  the  man  felt  as  if  he  were  alone  in 
the  room.  Then  he  ventured  inquiringly : 

"Agatha?" 

"  Yes,"  she  replied,  facing  him. 

"  I — I  owe  you  an  apology." 

"Indeed?" 

"  Yes,  for  yesterday's  foolishness.  You — you  clo 
know  it  was  foolishness  ?  " 

173 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  Yes,  I  thought  so." 

"  I  was  not — not  myself,  you  understand." 

"  Yes — I — understand." 

"  You  will  pardon  me  ?  You  will  not  bear  me  ill- 
will?" 

"  What  you  really  mean,  I  presume,  is  that  I  will 
not  tell  your  aunt." 

"  Well — I — that  is — "  he  stammered,  taken  aback 
by  this  keen  penetration  of  his  thought. 

"  You  needn't  be  alarmed,  Mr.  Hamilton ;  I  shall 
not  tell  her.  I  owe  her  too  much  to  wish  to  cause 
her  the  slightest  annoyance." 

"  You  are  not  flattering  to  me.  You  would  not 
keep  silent  for  my  sake  ?  "  he  queried. 

"  Scarcely.  Why  should  I  ?  You  did  not  for  your 
own.  If  this  is  all  you  have  to  say,  I  will  go  on  with 
my  work." 

Had  Agatha  seen  the  look  of  malevolence  he  gave 
her  retreating  figure,  she  would  have  had  still  further 
cause  to  distrust  him.  But  she  went  about  her  task 
with  a  song  very  irritating  to  Guy  in  his  present 
condition.  He  was  about  to  say  something,  he  knew 
not  what — something,  perhaps,  he  might  have  been 
sorry  for,  when  the  door  opened  and  the  butler  an- 
nounced in  an  especially  funereal  tone: 

"The  Reverend  Mr.  Ralph  Harding." 

Guy  never  felt  any  special  interest  in  "  sniveling 
parsons,"  as  he  called  them,  although  this  one  could 
have  put  him  hors  de  combat  with  the  boxing  gloves 
in  three  minutes,  and  less  than  ever  did  he  care  to  see 
Harding  at  this  time.  So  he  bolted  from  the  room 

174 


«  GOD  ALMIGHTTS  GENTLEMAN" 

without  ceremony,  giving  the  clergyman  only  a  nod 
and  a  muttered  something  in  answer  to  his  saluta- 
tion. 

"  I'm  afraid  Hamilton  has  been  going  it  pretty 
strong  again,"  thought  Harding,  as  he  passed  into 
the  library  for  his  two  hours'  reading  with  Agatha, 
"  he  looks  as  if  he  hadn't  a  friend  on  earth  this 
morning;  it's  the  old  sign." 

"Well,  Agatha?"  he  said  with  his  cheery  un- 
conventionality,  as  his  pupil,  or,  as  he  put  it,  fellow 
student,  came  toward  him. 

"Well,  Mr.  Harding?"  she  returned  in  like 
fashion. 

"  It's  Tennyson,  I  believe,  this  morning." 

"  Is  it?  "  she  said  mischievously,  "  why,  so  it  is. 
But  I'm  afraid  I've  been  a  bad  pupil,  for  I  have 
hardly  touched  my  lesson.  You  will  have  to  do  all 
the  thinking  to-day." 

According  to  their  custom,  he  began  to  read  aloud. 
He  had  chosen  "  In  Memoriam,"  and  as  his  fine  voice 
rose  and  fell  in  the  noble  cadences  of  that  noble  poem 
the  girl's  mind  could  not  resist  a  comparison  of  the 
two  men  who  a  little  before  had  been  under  the 
same  roof. 

Up  to  yesterday  there  had  scarcely  been  any  points 
of  contact  between  the  two  in  her  thought.  The  one 
had  been  the  embodiment  of  the  refinement  and  the 
courtesies  of  life,  the  gentleman  without  reproach  in 
all  the  externals,  at  least,  of  life;  the  other  she  had 
liked  for  his  genial  personality,  had  admired  for  his 
good  works  and  had  respected  for  his  cloth;  min- 

175 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


isters  were  a  very  excellent  part  of  creation,  no 
doubt,  but  they  were  neither  picturesque  nor  inspir- 
ing to  the  imagination. 

A  great  shock  had  changed  her  point  of  view  com- 
pletely, just  as  an  earthquake  might  alter  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  familiar  landscape.  She  found  herself 
judging  the  two  men  by  that  great  touchstone,  the 
use  of  which  all  must  learn  sooner  or  later — the  test 
of  character  and  that  native  gentility  that  is  not  cut 
out  on  the  same  system  a  tailor  uses  in  shaping  a 
coat.  Applying  this  rule  she  knew,  once  for  all, 
which  was  the  true  gentleman. 

Although  her  thoughts  were  far  away  from  Ten- 
nyson, these  lines  at  last  struck  in  upon  her  musings 
with  a  meaning  that  fairly  startled  her : 

"  And  thus  he  bore  without  abuse 
The  grand  old  name  of  gentleman, 
Defamed  by  every  charlatan 
And  soil'd  with  all  ignoble  use." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Harding,"  she  broke  in  impetuously, 
"  what  is  a  gentleman  ?  What  did  Tennyson  mean 
by  a  gentleman  ?  " 

He  was  struck  by  the  intensity  of  her  manner  and 
the  look  on  her  face.  He  felt  sure  that  no  love  of 
literature  was  responsible  for  those  parted  lips  and 
those  shining  eyes. 

"  A  gentleman,  Agatha?  Why,  my  dear  girl,  there 
are  as  many  standards  as  there  are  classes  of  society. 
My  own  is  simple  enough :  first  of  all  he  is  a  man. 
Then  he  is  a  courteous  man,  who  will  not  wound 
ethers'  feelings  without  cause;  he  loves  honor  and 

176 


"  GOD  ALMIGHTTS  GENTLEMAN" 

truth  and  decency.  If  he  is  refined  and  educated  and 
cultured,  so  much  the  better,  but  these  things  come 
last." 

"  A  man  first  of  all !  "  Ah,  that  was  the  keynote 
of  the  whole  matter,  thought  Agatha.  A  gentle  man ! 
He  who  is  not  a  man  cannot  be  a  gentleman. 

"  But  society "  she  began. 

"  Yes,  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say,  Agatha. 
Society  has  a  different  scale  of  measurement,  you 
mean.  The  cut  of  a  coat,  the  grace  of  a  bow,  the 
suavity  of  a  phrase — that's  the  sort  of  thing  that 
makes  its  gentleman.  But  I  tell  you  this  Agatha, 
that  between  society's  gentleman  and  God  Almighty's 
gentleman  there  is  a  gulf  of  folly  and  untruth  so 
wide  and  so  deep  that  the  one  could  not  cross  it  if  he 
would,  and  the  other  would  not  if  he  could." 

He  spoke  with  the  earnestness  of  a  prophet  of  old, 
with  the  eloquence  of  a  man  who  feels  that  he  has  a 
task  to  perform  for  the  good  of  the  world.  Sham, 
hypocrisy,  untruth — these  were  the  devils  he  was 
striving  to  cast  out  from  the  social  body. 

Agatha  drank  in  his  enthusiasm  as  it  were  an  ele- 
ment of  the  air.  She  too  had  begun  to  feel  his  love 
for  humanity,  his  impelling  desire  to  be  of  service. 
She  had  seen  the  smashing  of  one  of  her  idols,  but 
she  knew  now  that  it  was  a  false  god;  let  him  die. 
She  was  young,  and  the  earth  was  fair  and  bright. 
There  was  work  to  do,  and  some  time  she  would  do 
it,  and  do  it  well.  Harding  would  help  her,  she  be- 
lieved, and  she  turned  to  him  with  a  beautiful  look 
of  gratitude  which  he  did  not  then  understand,  but 
which  he  treasured  long  in  his  heart's  storehouse. 

177 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHRISTMAS 

MUCH  to  her  disgust  Agatha  went  out  too 
soon  and  strained  her  ankle  by  a  long 
walk  down  Promontory  Road.  She  was 
immensely  exhilarated  by  the  sweep  of  the  wind  up 
from  the  bay,  the  shrieking  of  seabirds  and  the  toss- 
ing waters  before  and  around  her,  but  when  she 
reached  home  she  could  hardly  walk,  and  next  day 
she  was  again  helpless. 

It  was  very  near  to  Christmas  before  she  was  able 
to  leave  the  house.  During  this  time  her  relations 
with  Guy  were  unchanged  so  far  as  the  superficial 
observer  could  have  noted.  But  there  were  no  more 
of  those  intimate  tete-a-tetes  that  Hamilton  had 
come  to  find  so  desirable,  no  more  of  the  stories  of 
society  life  she  had  once  drunk  in  with  such  avidity. 

He  had  tried  many  times  to  pin  Agatha  to  the 
subject  of  that  momentous  interview  in  the  library, 
but  in  skilful,  butterfly  fashion  she  flitted  away  from 
the  danger ;  she  treated  him  with  a  deferential  cour- 
tesy that  was  far  more  exasperating  than  downright 
rudeness  would  have  been. 

"  A  battle  now  and  then  would  signify  interest," 

he  thought  more  than  once,  "  but  this politeness 

178 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHRISTMAS 

is  enough  to  madden  a  fellow.  You  can't  tell  what 
it  means." 

As  is  the  way  of  the  male,  the  more  distant  the 
girl  became,  the  more  ardently  he  wished  for  her 
complaisance.  He  was  angry  with  himself,  with 
her  and  with  all  his  world.  Fits  of  moody  depression 
trod  hard  upon  the  heels  of  hours  of  wild  excitement, 
so  that  his  club  friends,  at  no  time  very  squeamish, 
began  to  shake  their  heads  and  declare  that  he  was 
"  steaming  it "  in  too  intense  a  fashion.  He  threw 
himself  into  his  "  affair  "  with  Mrs.  Worth-Court- 
leigh  in  reckless  and  tempestuous  manner,  and  she 
no  longer  had  occasion  to  complain  of  any  neglect  on 
his  part.  Yet  she  felt  that  Agatha  was  still  dominant 
in  his  mind,  and  her  hatred  of  the  girl  was  in  no 
wise  lessened. 

The  Worth- Courtleigh  servants  were  not  averse  to 
discussing  the  matter  in  that  style  of  sitting  in  judg- 
ment that  makes  them  second  only  to  our  own  con- 
sciences as  inquisitors. 

"  An'  I  think  she'll  get  caught  yet,"  said  Mrs. 
Worth-Courtleigh's  maid  to  her  favored  suitor,  the 
footman,  after  completing  a  tale  of  especial  interest. 

"She'll  not  either;  Mr.  Robert'd  not  believe  it, 
even  if  he  found  it  in  one  of  his  own  affidavys." 

Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  perceived  with  great  satis- 
faction that  the  newest  and  most  entertaining  gossip 
was  not  of  herself,  but  of  Hamilton  and  Agatha 
Renier.  Scandal  never  sprains  its  ankle,  and  she 
saw  her  own  innuendoes  as  to  that  day  in  Fairport 
collect  and  magnify  themselves  into  a  story  of  defi- 
nite and  dark  proportions.  When  it  was  repeated  tc 

179 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


her  she  smiled  significantly,  but  was  non-committai ; 
she  did  not  propose  to  be  made  the  responsible  party 
should  trouble  come. 

Worth-Courtleigh  heard  the  tale  in  some  round- 
about way,  and  was  troubled  thereby,  especially  as 
he  remembered  what  he  had  seen  in  the  fields,  and 
feared  there  was  some  basis  for  it. 

"  Lucy,"  he  said  to  his  wife  at  lunch  one  day, 
"  have  you  heard  this  wretched  story  about  Hamil- 
ton and  that  protegee  of  his  aunt's  ?  Oh,  yes,  I  know 
what  we  saw,  but  that  hardly  accounts  for  the  stuff 
now  going.  Somebody  has  added  to  it  and  circu- 
lated the  thing  till  it's  everywhere.  It's  a  burning 
shame,  I  say." 

"  It  is  too  bad,  Robert,"  she  replied  earnestly.  "  I 
hate  gossip,  as  you  know,  and  yet — well,  the  best  of 
us  seer*?  xond  of  it." 

"  I'll  admit  that  some  reasonably  good  people  love 
to  talk  scandal,"  he  said.  "  It  is  a  form  of  their 
self-conceit  to  imagine  that  it  makes  current  coin  of 
their  own  virtues.  But  that  doesn't  absolve  them 
from  a  share  in  the  dirty  work,  at  all.  I'd  like  to 
hear  Harding  talk  on  it  just  for  a  while." 

"  Oh,  Harding,"  she  exclaimed  somewhat  petu- 
lantly, "  Harding  is  a  saint,  of  course.  He  is  ont 
of  those  absurd  characters  who  never  do  anything 
wrong." 

The  lawyer  laughed. 

"  I  fancy  he  wouldn't  care  to  hear  you  say  that  of 
him,  Lucy,  for  he  is  a  man  and  a  good  fellow  to 
boot.  But  there  are  some  things  he  doesn't  stoop 

180 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHRISTMAS 

to  do,  and  tale-bearing  is  one  of  them.  I  wish  I 
could  say  that  of  all  my  male  acquaintances." 

Later  that  afternoon  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  went 
down  to  the  vestry  of  Saint  Agnes  Church,  which 
was  directly  opposite  the  Copeland  house,  to  help  ar- 
range for  the  Christmas  tree  to  be  given  in  combina- 
tion by  the  parishes  of  Rev.  Mr.  Greenacre  and  Rev. 
Mr.  Harding.  She  always  felt  a  sense  of  saving 
grace  in  lending  her  aid  to  church  work  of  this  more 
aesthetic  sort. 

It  was  a  pretty  scene  that  met  her  eyes  as  she  en- 
tered. The  vestry,  with  its  gothic  arches  of  natural 
wood,  its  latticed  windows  and  its  cleverly  concealed 
lights,  was  an  interior  to  charm  the  vision.  It  was 
now  made  still  more  beautiful  by  long  festoons  of 
evergreen  intertwined  through  the  rafters,  caught  up 
here  and  there  with  gilt  stars.  At  one  end  was  a 
hemlock  tree  of  generous  proportions,  and  over  it, 
on  a  long  band  of  gilded  paper,  the  words : 

PEACE  ON  EARTH,  GOOD   WILL  TO  MEN 

Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  was  greeted  with  proper 
effusiveness  by  the  group  of  ladies  who  were  engaged 
in  arranging  the  toys,  filling  the  candy  bags  and 
trimming  the  tree.  Mrs.  Greenacre,  Miss  Postle- 
thwaite  and  Mrs.  Emerson  were  there,  as  well  as 
other  members  of  both  churches.  The  Reverend  Mr. 
Greenacre  was  trotting  about  from  group  to  group, 
mildl"*  encouraging  the  laborers  in  the  vineyard,  but 
doing  nothing  himself.  The  diffident  Mr.  Emerson, 

181 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


armed  with  a  little  wooden  mallet,  was  breaking 
slabs  of  candy  into  pieces  small  enough  to  go  into 
the  little  bags  for  the  tree. 

Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh,  whose  artistic  sense  was 
recognized  to  the  full,  was  given  the  task  of  hanging 
the  glittering  baubles  of  red,  silver  and  gold  on  the 
tree,  and  of  disposing  the  gifts  so  that  the  picture 
should  be  irreproachable.  The  others  knelt  and 
stood  about  her  to  hand  her  the  various  articles  she 
needed. 

"  We  were  saying  just  before  you  came,"  ob- 
served Mrs.  Emerson  with  her  simper,  "  that  it's 
too  bad  dear  Mr.  Harding  isn't  married.  Of  course 
Mrs.  Brown  is  a  good  soul,  but  a  housekeeper  isn't 
a  wife." 

"  True,"  sighed  Miss  Postlethwaite. 

"  And  they  say  he  has  such  a  delicate  task,"  con- 
tinued the  librarian's  wife,  "  in  keeping  off  the  wo- 
men. I  hear  it's  scandalous  the  advances  the  eldest 
Prudover  girl — the  tall  one  with  the  hook-nose,  you 
know — makes  on  every  occasion.  They  say  she  even 
ogles  him  in  prayer-meeting." 

"  It  is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone,"  said  Mrs. 
Greenacre,  in  her  deep  and  sententious  voice.  Hear- 
ing which  the  Reverend  Archibald  came  very  near  to 
heresy  on  one  scriptural  text  at  least. 

"  But,"  interposed  Miss  Postlethwaite,  "  if  he 
were  to  marry,  of  course  he  would  have  to  stop  those 
lessons  with  Mrs.  Copeland's  secretary — the  Renier 
girl." 

It  needed  but  the  mention  of  Agatha's  name  to  turn 
the  tide  of  scandal-mongering  in  a  new  direction. 

182 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHRISTMAS 

All  that  the  gathering  had  heard  blown  about  the 
town  by  the  wind  of  malice  seemed  to  centre  here 
in  this  little  place  of  God  and  under  the  mimic  star 
of  Bethlehem. 

One  story  was  matched  by  another  more  atrocious, 
until,  finally,  poor  Agatha  had  not  a  shred  of  repu- 
tation left  her.  It  was  even  hinted  that  she  and 
Hamilton  had  disappeared  after  the  Fairport  inci- 
dent, and  had  not  been  seen  for  three  weeks.  Then 
Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  deemed  it  best  to  interpose. 
Looking  down  from  her  perch  on  the  chair,  with  a 
sweetly  smiling  face,  she  said  gently : — 

"  Oh,  but  we  should  not  be  uncharitable  toward 
the  poor  girl.    We  should  pity  her.    There  is  some 
excuse    for   her;    her   mother    was    an   unworthy 
creature." 

Mingled  with  murmurs  of  admiration  for  Mrs. 
Worth-Courtleigh's  magnanimity  were  expressed  de- 
sires to  hear  more  of  the  tale. 

"  Dear  me,  who  was  she  ?    Tell  us  about  it." 

"  Oh,  no ;  I  cannot  repeat  such  stories.  But  as 
for  her  child — well,"  with  a  raising  of  her  eyebrows 
and  a  shrug  of  her  shoulders,  "  you  know  society 
must  be  particular,  or  what  would  become  of  it  ?  " 

"  What,  indeed  ?  "  was  the  chorus. 

"  I  have  always  observed,"  said  a  new  voice 
calmly,  "  that  when  one  woman  apologizes  for  a 
scandalous  story  about  another,  you  can  be  almost 
certain  that  she  is  trying  to  make  her  hearers  believe 
it  is  true." 

The  new  comer  was  Mrs.  Brown,  Mr.  Harding's 
housekeeper,  a  matronly  woman  who  had  befriended 

183 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


more  unfortunates  than  she  would  care  to  acknowl- 
edge. She  had  slipped  in  quietly,  and  had  heard 
much  of  the  talk. 

"  As  for  Mr.  Hamilton  and  Miss  Renier,"  she 
continued,  "  what  real  evidence  is  there  that  their 
relations  have  been  anything  but  most  correct  ?  " 

"  My  dear  lady,"  broke  in  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Greenacre,  with  his  most  sacerdotal  air,  "  when  a 
man  stoops  to  a  woman  beneath  him  in  the  social 
scale  it  is  not  to  raise  her  up." 

Mrs.  Brown  would  have  combated  this  theory  to 
the  end,  had  not  the  attention  of  the  whole  company 
just  then  been  diverted  by  the  appearance  of  a  queer 
little  figure  at  the  door.  It  was  the  morsel — Susy 
Brent — the  bit  of  a  child  who  had  long  ago  warmed 
Mrs.  Copeland's  heart  by  that  chat  in  Mr.  Harding's 
study.  She  was  a  quaint  apparition,  with  her  little 
woolen  cap  and  shawl  and  a  muff  that  had  done  its 
best  service  long  ago. 

"  Please,  ladies  an'  genlemen,"  she  piped  loudly, 
"  is  Mrs.  Brown  up  here  ?  'Cause  if  she  is  I've  got 
a  message  for  her  from  Mr.  Hardin'.  Yes,  I  sees 
her  now,"  she  added,  as  she  went  to  that  lady  with- 
out hesitation  and  whispered  something  in  her  ear. 

"All  right,  Susy,  I'll  see  to  it,"  said  the  lady 
pleasantly.  "  Now  wouldn't  vou  like  to  look  at  our 
tree?" 

The  others  added  their  invitation.  Here  was  a 
chance  to  patronize  a  poor  fellow-being,  and  they 
gushed  over  her  rapturously. 

If  the  morsel  was  at  all  excited  by  the  unusual 
scene  and  the  more  than  unusual  attention,  she  gave 

184 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHRISTMAS 

no  sign  of  it.  She  viewed  the  tree  with  a  coldly 
critical  air. 

"  Why,  Susy,  don't  you  think  it  just  be-e-auti- 
f ul  ?  "  exclaimed  the  intense  Miss  Postlethwaite. 

"  Yes,  them  green  things  is  wery  pretty,"  replied 
the  girl,  "  but  they  been't  good  ter  eat,  be  they?  " 

"  Oh,  there'll  be  plenty  of  candy  by  and  by,"  said 
someone. 

"  Candy ;  umph !  I  guess  you  don't  know  poor 
folkses  wery  well.  They'd  rather  have  a  bit  o'  cold 
meat  than  gumdrops." 

"  Don't  you  go  to  church  ?  " 

"  Me,  mum  ?  No.  Look  at  me  shoes  an  this — " 
holding  out  her  pathetically  patched  dress. 

"  I  should  think  your  mother  would  make  you  go," 
said  Mrs.  Greenacre  severely.  "  All  nice  little  girls 
go  to  church." 

"  Guess  ma  don't  set  much  store  by  churches.  Pa 
was  killed  paintin'  a  steeple." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  child ;  in  the  service  of  the  Lord," 
exclaimed  Rev.  Mr.  Greenacre  with  great  fervor. 

"  That's  what  Deacon  Snow  said,  but  ma,  she  said 
she  guessed  the  Lord  was  pretty  poor  pay.  They'd 
only  give  her  half-wages  for  the  last  day  pa  painted." 

The  rector  raised  his  hands  in  horror. 

"  Oh,  such  benighted  ignorance,  such  awful  sac- 
rilege, such " 

But  his  wife  dragged  him  away  to  attend  to  some 
detail  of  decoration,  and  his  sentence  was  never  com- 
pleted. 

Susy,  having  duly  scandalized  the  most  of  the 
company,  retired  into  t^e  oackground  to  watch  pro- 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


ceedings.  She  was  made  happy  by  a  bag  of  candy 
and  a  doll  which  Mrs.  Brown  purloined  for  her  sake, 
and  she  began  to  think  that  after  all  it  might  be  well 
to  cultivate  churches.  In  the  midst  of  the  chatter  and 
the  bustle,  Mr.  Emerson  entered  from  the  hall  with 
direful  tidings. 

"  S-she's  c-coming ! "  he  stammered,  in  great  per- 
turbation. 

"  Who's  coming?  "  was  the  general  query. 

"  T-that  R-renier  girl." 

"  How  can  you  tell,  my  dear  ?  "  asked  his  wife. 
"You  can  hardly  see  ten  feet  away." 

"  W-well,  I  know  it's  she,"  he  said,  becoming  more 
composed,  "  I  can  tell  her  by  that  red  cloak  with  the 
black  braid  and  frogs."  This  cloak  was  one  of 
Agatha's  favorite  garments ;  it  was,  in  fact,  the  only 
article  of  her  mother's  attire  she  had  kept. 

In  a  moment  more  the  girl  was  in  the  room,  fresh 
and  hearty  and  smiling  radiantly  at  the  little  party. 
She  bore  in  her  arms  a  big  box  containing  Mrs. 
Copeland's  offering  for  the  Christmas  tree.  She 
seemed  the  incarnation  of  good-will  and  holiday 
cheer. 

"Where  shall  I  put  it,  Mr.  Greenacre?"  she 
asked  of  the  rector,  evidently  regarding  him  as  the 
responsible  head  of  the  affair. 

"  Put  it  on  the  floor,  Miss  er-Renier,  if  you 
please,"  he  answered  stiffly. 

Agatha  deposited  her  burden  carefully  and  turned 
to  speak  to  the  others.  They  seemed  extraordinarily 
busy  over  their  tasks.  Only  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh 
was  looking  at  her. 

186 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHRISTMAS 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh,"  she 
said  cordially,  "  what  a  pretty  effect  you've  made 
here." 

The  woman  stared  at  the  girl  with  absolute  un- 
recognition  in  her  eyes.  She  uttered  not  a  word, 
but  after  a  moment  of  contemptuous  scrutiny 
wheeled  about  and  went  back  to  her  tree. 

Agatha  was  transfixed  with  surprise.  Then  she 
understood ;  it  was  a  joke,  of  course,  some  new  form 
of  holiday  amusement. 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  she  laughed,  "  you  are  all  pretending 
not  to  know  me  so  that  I  shall  have  to  introduce  my- 
self all  around.  Well,  I'm  Agatha  Renier,  at  your 
service,  Miss  Postlethwaite,  Mrs.  Emerson,  Mrs. — " 

The  words  were  frozen  on  her  lips  by  what  she 
saw.  Not  one  of  the  women  turned,  nor  paid  the 
slightest  heed  to  her  words.  They  had  heard,  oh, 
yes,  she  knew  they  had  heard;  they  had  cut  her 
under  the  leadership  of  that  wonderful  being,  Mrs. 
Worth-Courtleigh,  who  had  humiliated  and  insulted 
her  thus  publicly.  She  blanched  with  a  terrible 
anger  that  made  all  else  in  life  seem  trivial. 

"What  is  the—  ?" 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  "  she  had  meant  to 
say,  but  at  that  moment  her  intense  pride  asserted 
itself,  and  she  walked  proudly  to  the  door,  looking 
neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the  left.  As  she  passed 
into  the  hall  her  red  cloak  slipped  from  her  shoulders 
and  to  the  floor,  but  she  did  not  heed  it. 

"  What  did  they  mean — the  cats  ?  "  she  said,  her 
intent  shifting  in  a  moment.  "  I'll  go  back  and  face 
them." 

187 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


Just  as  she  reached  the  inner  door  she  heard  Mrs. 
Worth-Courtleigh's  melodious  voice: 

"  Well,  poor  girl,  what's  bred  in  the  bone,  you 
know;  she  is  not  responsible  for  her  mother." 

"  She  too  !  "  cried  Agatha  fiercely,  and  sprang  for- 
ward like  a  wild  thing  almost  upon  the  tiny  figure 
of  a  little  girl,  knocking  her  down. 

"  Why,  you  poor  little  mite,  did  I  hurt  you?  "  she 
asked  anxiously. 

"  No,  mum,"  replied  Susy  —  for  it  was  the  morsel 
whom  Agatha  had  so  unceremoniously  felled  —  "  I'm 
used  to  being  knocked  around;  our  house  is  small 
for  so  many." 

"Have  you  a  mother?"  cried  Agatha  passion- 
ately. 

"  Yes,  mum,"  replied  the  wondering  child. 

"  Thank  God  for  her,  then,  dear  ;  thank  God  for 
her!" 

"  Take  these,"  said  the  little  voice  after  a  mo- 
ment's silence.  The  girl  held  up  the  doll  and  the 
candy. 

'These,  child;  why?" 

"  I  seed  you  weren't  to  get  anythin'  in  there,  and 
I  came  out  to  give  you  them  things.  No,  I  don't 
need  'em,  really  I  don't." 

Tears  filled  Agatha's  eyes  and  she  gathered  the 
little  girl  into  her  arms  and  kissed  her  tenderly. 
Then  she  released  her  with  something  that  sounded 
like  "  Bless  your  big  little  heart,  my  dear/'  and  ran 
swiftly  across  the  street  and  into  the  house. 


1  88 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  CHRISTMAS 

"  Bless  my  soul,  what  an  excitable  young  woman," 
observed  the  "Rev.  Mr.  Greenacre  after  Agatha's  un- 
ceremonious departure.  "  She's  very  pretty,  though, 
and  it's  a  pity  she's — she's — !  Come  Emerson,  help 
me  with  our  motto ;  the  '  Good  will '  is  a  little 
twisted,  don't  you  think?  Run  and  get  the  step- 
ladder,  that's  a  good  fellow." 


Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  was  one  of  the  first  to 
leave  the  church.  When  she  reached  home  she  un- 
did a  paper  parcel,  took  from  it  a  crimson  cloak 
trimmed  with  black  braid  and  threw  it  violently 
across  the  back  of  a  chair. 

Then  she  sat  down  and  wrote  a  note,  and  sent  it  to 
the  Attawam  Club. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   WHIP   OF   SCORN 

THE  five  o'clock  loungers  at  the  Attawam  Club 
that  afternoon  had  something  out  of  the 
ordinary  to  occupy  their  minds  and  their 
conversation.  It  had  been  snowing  fitfully  during 
the  day,  and  the  flakes  were  still  lazily  pirouetting  in 
the  air.  The  clubmen  were  interested. 

It  was  not  for  .any  special  love  of  the  beauty  of  the 
feathery  element  nor  sentiment  as  to  its  Yuletide 
appearance  that  moved  the  hearts  of  the  company. 
The  potent  fact  was  that  for  years  Captain  Howard 
had  offered  a  prize  of  a  magnum  of  champagne  to 
the  first  man  who  should  reach  his  roadhouse  each 
season  on  runners.  It  was  a  seductive  prize ;  those 
who  would  have  scorned  a  money  reward  were  de- 
lighted if  they  could  bring  back  the  great  bottle  of 
wine  to  the  club  and  make  merry  over  its  outpour- 
ing. 

So  the  "  Leather  Room  " — thus  called  because  all 
its  fittings,  chairs,  couches,  tables,  wall-hangings  and 
carpet  were  of  that  material  decoratively  treated — 
was  buzzing  with  talk  of  the  snow,  and  bets  were 
plentiful  as  to  which  member,  if  any,  would  bring 
the  magnum  back  in  triumph  to  the  Attawam. 

Guy,  who  had  spent  most  of  the  day  in  these  con- 

IQO 


THE  WHIP  OF  SCORN 

genial  surroundings,  was  one  of  those  most  inter- 
ested in  sleighing  wagers.  He  had  kept  a  watchful 
eye  on  the  clouds  and  the  snow,  and  his  big  roan 
mare  was  even  now  standing  in  a  nearby  livery 
stable  hitched  into  a  handsome  cutter  and  guarded 
by  James  Anderson,  the  Copeland  coachman.  In  an 
hour,  Hamilton  believed,  there  would  be  sufficient 
snow  for  the  trip  to  "  Howard's  "  but  he  kept  his 
belief  to  himself. 

At  last  the  moment  seemed  propitious,  and  he 
sauntered  nonchalantly  into  the  hall  in  order  to  make 
a  quick  dash  for  the  stable.  He  was  just  about  to 
pass  the  outer  door,  when  a  messenger  handed  him  a 
note.  He  tore  it  open,  read  it,  swore  roundly  and 
left  the  club. 

"  Hang  it  all,"  he  soliloquized  as  he  drove  toward 
the  Worth-Courtleigh's,  "  Lucy  has  the  most  ex- 
asperating habit  of  turning  up  when  she  isn't  wanted. 
What's  in  the  wind,  I  wonder  ?  '  Come  to  me  at 
once,  and  take  me  somewhere ! '  Pretty  message, 
isn't  it,  just  as  I  was  about  to  spring  a  joke  on  the 
boys?  Confound  it,  I'll— " 

His  further  reflections  were  interrupted  by  the 
sight  of  the  cheerily  lighted  Worth-Courtleigh 
house ;  he  hitched  and  blanketed  his  horse  and  rang 
the  bell.  Lucy  herself  came  to  the  door. 

A  smile  of  satisfaction,  of  triumph  even,  lighted 
her  face.  It  pleased  her  vanity  to  think  that  this  big 
and  handsome  man  should  be  at  her  beck  and  call. 

But  she  was  keen  enough  to  note  that  her  cavalier 
was  in  a  bad  state  of  mind.  He  was  there  unwill- 
ingly; perhaps,  she  reasoned  with  a  throb  of  jeal- 

IQI 


ousy,  perhaps  because  he  had  intended  to  meet  some- 
one else. 

"  Guy,"  she  whispered  tenderly,  "  you  are  not 
pleased.  Have  I — have  I  offended  you?  " 

Then  he  told  her  of  the  wager  about  the  first 
sleighing,  and  how  her  note  had  ruined  his  chances 
of  winning  the  magnum.  Her  spirits  rose  at  once; 
no  woman  could  possibly  figure  in  that.  She  cried 
gaily  :— - 

"  And  so  you  think  I've  spoiled  your  plan  ?  Don't 
look  so  disconsolate.  You  shall  have  your  ride  to 
'  Howard's,'  and  I'll  go  with  you ;  that's  all  the  dif- 
ference." 

"You?" 

He  looked  at  her  wonderingly.  Why  was  it  he 
must  always  suspect  some  ulterior  design  in  most  of 
her  propositions? 

"  Yes,  why  not  ? "  she  answered  brightly. 
"  Worth-Courtleigh's  away,  you  know." 

"  All  the  fellows  will  be  there ;  always  are  on  the 
night  of  the  first  snow." 

"What  of  that?" 

"  What  of  it  ?  Great  Scott,  Lucy,  don't  you  real- 
ize that  they'll  see  you — recognize  you,  very 
likely?" 

"  I'll  risk  it.  It  will  add  spice  to  life  and  spice  is 
what  I  need  just  now." 

"  But—" 

"  Besides,  I'll  bundle  up  so  my  own  husband 
wouldn't  know  me.  Now  go,  and  I'll  meet  you  at 
the  corner  of  Bristol  Street  in  ten  minutes." 

192 


THE  WHIP  OF  SCORN 

For  three-quarters  of  an  hour  Guy  paced  his 
splendid  horse  back  and  forth  near  the  appointed 
place,  in  no  happy  condition.  The  snow  was  falling 
rapidly,  and  he  longed  to  be  off  for  "  Howard's." 
\Yhen  Lucy  at  last  appeared,  Guy  had  to  admit  that 
even  he  would  not  have  recognized  her.  Her  face 
\vas  enveloped  in  a  large  white  "  cloud  "  until  only 
the  tip  of  her  pretty  nose  was  visible.  She  wore  a 
long  red  cloak  trimmed  with  black  braid,  a  garment 
which  seemed  familiar  to  Guy,  although  not  exactly 
connected  with  her. 

She  got  in  and  pressed  close  to  Guy  as  he  tucked 
the  wolf-skin  robe  around  her.  Then  the  rangy 
mare  was  given  her  head,  and  they  dashed  up  Bristol 
Street  to  that  exhilarating  jingling  that  quickens  the 
pulses  of  youth  and  makes  age  envious.  Past  the 
northern  mills,  along  by  the  river  they  sped,  and  far 
out  into  the  open  country,  she  chatting  gaily  and  he 
answering  in  monosyllables.  Now  and  then  they 
overtook  some  sleighers ;  a  "  click  "  to  the  fast  mare, 
and  they  were  far  ahead  in  a  moment. 

It  was  a  strange  ride  in  the  dark,  the  snow  beating 
on  their  faces,  the  wind  rushing  past  their  ears,  their 
hearts  filled  with  stormy  emotions  of  widely  different 
nature.  It  pleased  neither  of  them,  Mrs  Worth- 
Courtleigh  perhaps  the  less.  After  a  few  miles  of 
it  she  said  suddenly : — 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  better  to  turn  back  now,  and 
drive  straight  to  '  Howard's  '  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Lucy,"  he  returned  disgustedly,  "  haven't 
you  got  rid  of  that  idea  yet?  " 

193 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  I'm  awfully  hungry,  and  it's  altogether  the  best 
place  in  town,"  she  persisted  gaily. 

He  pulled  the  mare  almost  upon  her  haunches,  and 
swung  her  sharply  around  toward  the  city. 

"  Well,  if  you  must,"  he  said  sullenly. 

He  cut  the  roan  sharply  with  the  whip,  and  she 
sprang  forward  under  the  indignity  and  tore  along 
through  the  loose  snow. 

"  Howard's  "  was  a  blaze  of  light  when  they  ar- 
rived, and  the  yard  about  the  house  was  lively  with 
sleighing  parties  constantly  coming  from  the  city. 
Guy  recognized  several  of  his  club  friends,  who  lifted 
their  hats  punctiliously,  but  scrutinized  the  well  dis- 
guised woman  with  sardonic  smiles. 

"I'm  safe,  safe!"  thought  Mrs.  Worth-Court- 
leigh  with  exultation.  "  They  don't  recognize  me ; 
they  can't.  And  this  cloak — ah,  I  can  play  the  game 
to  the  end." 

They  were  shown  to  a  handsome  private  parlor 
where  a  fire  was  blazing  and  a  dainty  table  set  for 
two.  Guy  ordered  supper,  and  the  pair  sat  down 
cosily  before  the  fire  and  spread  their  hands  to  the 
blaze.  Under  the  influence  of  a  preliminary  pota- 
tion Guy  became  quite  cheerful,  and  forgot  the  un- 
pleasant things  of  life.  After  all,  why  should  he 
object  to  Lucy's  coming  here,  if  she  herself  did  not  ? 
It  was  a  jolly  place,  she  was  a  pretty  woman  and  a 
good  supper  was  on  the  way.  Existence  was  not  so 
bad  a  thing  as  he  had  thought. 

A  party  of  his  friends  had  a  room  near  by,  and  he 
could  hear  them  talking  of  him.  "  We  all  thought 
Hamilton  had  cleaned  up  the  magnum,"  said  a  voice, 

194 


THE  WHIP  OF  SCORN 

"  when  he  disappeared  so  early.  But  he  wasn't  here 
when  we  arrived.  Funny,  what  could  have  kept 
him." 

"  A  woman  most  likely,"  answered  someone  else, 
and  there  was  general  laughter. 

"  You  see  they  know  you,"  said  Mrs.  Worth- 
Courtleigh,  with  suggestive  raillery,  "  and  it  was 
a  woman,  wasn't  it,  dear?  But  they  can't  guess 
who?" 

After  a  most  satisfactory  supper  Guy  smoked  a 
cigar  or  two,  and  the  pair  thought  of  home-going. 
But  the  door  of  the  room  occupied  by  the  clubmen 
was  wide  open,  unfortunately,  and  the  risk  of  being 
detected  in  the  glaring  light  was  too  great,  even  for 
Lucy's  self-will.  For  an  hour  or  more  they  were 
prisoners,  until  at  last  the  striking  of  the  clock 
aroused  the  woman  to  a  sense  of  other  danger. 

"  Eleven !  I  must  get  home,  Guy,"  she  exclaimed 
nervously.  "  We  can  manage  it  somehow.  Hold 
your  hat  before  my  face,  or  your  arm,  or  anything 
as  we  go  by.  Now !  " 

They  glided  past  the  open  door  unheeded,  they 
hoped,  for  the  party  of  roisterers  within  appeared 
too  much  occupied  with  Captain  Howard's  famous 
Christmas  punch  to  note  what  was  going  on  in  the 
hall.  But  they,  too,  were  on  the  point  of  breaking 
up,  and  they  followed  close  upon  the  heels  of  Ham- 
ilton and  Lucy.  They  had  just  time  to  bundle  them- 
selves into  the  cutter  and  be  off  as  the  others  came 
down  the  stairs  singing  "  Good-night,  Ladies,"  at 
the  top  of  their  lungs. 

'"'  Good-night,  gentlemen,"  cried  Lucy  mockingly, 

195 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  you'll  not  see  us  again."  She  had  full  confidence 
in  the  roan  mare,  and  it  was  not  misplaced.  Guy 
took  the  back  streets  and  left  Mrs.  Worth-Court- 
leigh  near  her  home.  Then  he  drove  back  to  the 
club. 

A  few  minutes  later  Lucy  left  her  house  and 
walked  hurriedly  to  Bristol  street.  She  crossed  over 
to  the  vestry  of  Saint  Agnes  Church,  and  after  look- 
ing carefully  about  once  or  twice,  tried  one  of  the 
windows.  It  yielded  to  her  touch. 

"  Ah,  I  thought  so,"  she  said.  Then  she  took  a 
parcel  from  under  her  coat,  slipped  off  its  paper  cov- 
ering, dropped  the  contents  upon  the  floor  inside  and 
shut  the  window. 

"  And  now,  Miss  Agatha,  even  if  you  had  a  chance 
to  explain,  you  might  not  find  it  easy,"  she  said 
aloud,  and  with  that  comforting  remark  went  home 
and  to  bed. 

When  Hamilton  reached  the  Attawam  he  found 
that  several  sleighs  laden  with  his  cronies  had  just 
arrived  from  "  Howard's."  The  jingling  of  bells, 
the  neighing  of  horses,  the  shouts  of  stable  boys,  the 
peals  of  laughter,  the  snatches  of  song,  the  out- 
flaring  of  light  from  every  window  in  the  club- 
house— all  gave  promise  of  a  notable  "  night  of  it." 
It  suited  his  mood  to  perfection,  and.  giving  his 
horse  to  a  club  servant,  he  hurried  into  the  house 
and  ordered  a  lackey  to  call  James  Anderson,  who 
was  below  stairs,  to  take  the  animal  home. 

A  convivial  and  not  altogether  sober  shout  greeted 
Guy  as  he  made  his  appearance  in  the  "  Leather 
room."  It  was  a  hubbub  of  reproaches,  of  banter, 

196 


THE  WHIP  OF  SCORN 

of  supposed  witticisms,  of  invitations  to  drink 
(which  the  delinquent  seemed  to  hear  most  clearly) 
and  of  mock-pathetic  requests  for  light  on  his  pecu- 
liar and  unclubable  conduct.  He  noted,  with  a  curi- 
ous feeling  of  resentment,  that  Rev.  Mr.  Harding 
was  sitting  in  the  adjoining  "  Quiet  Room  "  reading 
as  calmly  as  if  all  this  din  were  a  part  of  his  own 
library.  What  right  had  a  parson  to  come  around 
spoiling  sport  by  his  very  presence  ?  Then  and  there 
all  his  latent  dislike  of  the  minister  crystallized  into 
hot  and  unreasoning  hatred. 

A  servant  came  in  and  respectfully  touched  his 
elbow.  "  Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  Anderson  is  in  the 
office,  and  wants  his  orders." 

He  went  into  the  main  hall,  where  he  found  the 
coachman,  whip  in  hand,  ready  for  instructions. 
The  chaffing  crowd,  not  to  be  cheated  of  its  prey, 
followed,  and  kept  up  its  fire  of  drink-inspired  witti- 
cism. 

"  Come,  Hamilton,  tell  us  who  the  darling  was.," 
"  Yes,  by  Jove,  tell  us;  'fess  up,  old  man." 
"  No  denials ;  we  saw  you  at  Captain  Jack's." 
"  Bet  anybody  a   '  V '   I  know  who  she  was," 
blurted  a  tipsy  young  fool,  the  decadent  son  of  a 
respected  bank  president.     "  I  know  that  cloak  she 
wore,  he,  he,  he!     I've  seen  it  before,  you  can  bet 
your  life." 

"  Two  to  one  you  don't  know,"  shouted  another 
reveller. 

"  Here,  now,  you  fellows,"  growled  Guy,  "  quit 

that;    it's  none  of  your business  who  she  was. 

Understand?"      • 

197 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  Oh,  come,  Ham'lt'n,"  hiccoughed  someone  pa- 
thetically, "  don'  shpoil  th'  bet.  Betsh  ish  betsh 
'tween  gen'lemen." 

"  Name  her,"  demanded  two  or  three  in  unison. 

"  Well,  I'll  take  my  oath  it  was  that  pretty  Agatha 
— what's  her  name,"  cried  the  youth  who  had  of- 
ferred  the  "  V." 

"Nonsense.  I've  won,  haven't  I,  Hamilton?" 
said  the  second  bettor. 

Guy  flushed  angrily. 

"  Find  out  for  yourselves,"  he  said,  "  I'll  have 
nothing  to  do  with  such  caddishness." 

At  that  moment  Harding  entered  the  main  hall 
from  the  "  Leather  Room."  The  sight  of  him 
roused  all  the  worst  elements  in  Guy's  nature  and 
completely  obliterated  any  compunction  he  might 
have  had  on  Agatha's  account.  He  would  humiliate 
this  meddling  parson  once  and  for  all,  and  he  saw 
a  clear  and  effective  way  to  do  it. 

"  It  will  do  no  harm  to  deny  such  a  palpable  error 
as  that,  Mr.  Hamilton,"  said  the  minister,  in  pre- 
cise and  measured  tones. 

Guy  looked  him  over  contemptuously. 

"  Why  do  you  interfere  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Merely  as  a  friend  in  behalf  of  a  woman ;  a 
woman  who  appears  to  need  defenders,"  returned 
Harding,  with  a  glance  of  scorn  about  the  crowd. 

"  As  a  friend,  eh  ?  "  sneered  the  other.  "  Well, 
you  may  as  well  understand  that  I  shall  not  be 
drawn  into  this  thing,  even  if  you  are." 

"  But,  Hamilton,  don't  you  see  that  if  you  don't 
deny  it—" 

198 


THE  WHIP  OF  SCORN 

"  I'll  neither  deny  nor  affirm  it,"  shouted  Guy 
angrily.  "  Suppose  it  were  she;  what  then?  " 

"But  it  was  not,"  said  the  minister  with  a  deep 
solemnity  that  would  have  carried  instant  conviction 
to  men  in  their  senses.  There  was  danger  in  his 
tone;  the  justice-loving  heart  of  the  man  was  com- 
ing to  the  surface,  and  the  clergyman  was  fading 
away,  but  the  fatuous  Guy  saw  nothing. 

"  Oh,  wasn't  it  ?  "  he  cried  sarcastically.  "  Come 
Allen," — to  the  second  bettor — "  settle;  it's  on  you. 
Now  open  a  bottle  with  that  ten." 

"  You  cowardly  cur !  "  cried  Harding,  starting 
toward  the  slanderer  with  uplifted  fist. 

Then  it  was  that  James  Anderson  stepped  up  and 
laid  a  restraining  hand  on  the  minister's  arm. 
"  Don't,  sir,  don't ;  it's  beneath  you ;  let  me,"  he 
said  respectfully. 

He  raised  his  whip  deliberately,  and  struck  Ham- 
ilton a  terrible  blow  across  his  fair,  handsome  face. 
A  livid  welt  sprang  to  the  surface. 

"  D — n  you,"  yelled  Guy,  smarting  with  rage  and 
pain,  while  the  crowd,  partially  sobered  by  this 
dramatic  termination  of  the  scene,  rushed  in  to 
separate  the  men,  "  you'll  never  use  that  whip  again 
in  the  Copeland  service." 

"  Right,"  exclaimed  James  Anderson,  as  with  a 
swift  and  sudden  movement  he  broke  the  stock  across 
his  knee,  "  I  wouldn't  so  insult  a  horse." 


199 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE   PATH   OF  THE   STORM 

AGATHA  went  about  her  little  duties  next 
morning  with  a  heaviness  of  heart  that  not 
even  the  white  loveliness  of  the  day  could 
lighten.  It  had  cleared  during  the  night,  and  the 
sun  was  shining  from  a  sky  of  richest  blue  upon  a 
world  as  yet  spotlessly  pure. 

A  flock  of  snow-birds  swept  from  tree  to  tree 
scattering  bright  powder  from  limb  and  twig,  and  a 
few  of  the  venturesome  fluttered  about  Agatha's 
window-sill,  perhaps  mindful  of  past  favors.  But 
their  pretty  pleading  was  unheeded. 

The  girl's  grief  was  matched  by  her  wonderment. 
She  was  absolutely  bewildered  by  the  blow  struck  at 
her  pride  and  self-respect  by  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh 
and  the  others.  Women  of  their  rank,  she  reasoned, 
would  not  stoop  to  such  a  thing  without  cause,  and 
she  was  afraid  she  had  unwittingly  done  something 
that  merited  their  displeasure.  If  so,  she  could  and 
would  make  amends;  perhaps  Guy  would  find  out 
for  her  what  it  was.  She  might  unbend  to  him  to 
that  extent. 

But  that  insult  to  the  memory  of  her  mother! 
Ah!  that  was  vile,  mean,  unpardonable.  Nothing 

200 


THE  PATH  OF  THE  STORM 

that  she  herself  had  done  could  justify  it.  Anger 
once  more  ruled  her  softer  mood,  and  she  felt  that 
she  could  see  the  pink  and  white  beauty  suffer  any 
torture  unmoved.  But,  oh,  the  hopelessness  of  it, 
her  own  helplessness.  She  was  not  an  inch  nearer 
the  goal  of  her  ambition — to  force  the  world's  recog- 
nition of  her  mother's  goodness — than  she  was  when 
Big  Bess  had  shouted  her  coarse  revilings  down  by 
the  mill.  Here  in  this  upper  stratum  of  society  she 
was  as  impotent  as  before,  yes,  even  more,  for  in  the 
old  days  she  had  silenced  a  slander  by  physical  fury. 
But  what  had  she  done  yesterday  ?  Nothing,  except 
walk  away  like  a  tragedy  queen,  as  if  that  would 
have  any  effect  on  women  who  despised  her.  She 
could  have  cried  with  mortification  and  despair. 

She  threw  high  her  window  and  leaned  out  to  the 
glorious  air  tingling  with  ozone  from  the  newly 
fallen  snow.  How  beautiful  Nature  was,  how  well- 
disposed  to  all  her  children,  how  free  from  the  petty 
meannesses  of  the  men  and  women  she  nurtured. 
Over  across  the  street  she  saw  the  pretty  little  vestry 
nestling  beneath  snow-laden  branches  that  seemed 
bending  to  give  it  benediction.  Her  resentment 
flamed  up  anew. 

"  And  they  dared,"  she  cried  aloud,  "  in  that  place 
they  pretend  to  call  consecrated,  they  dared  to  hu- 
miliate me  and  lie  about  my  mother.  And  that 
'  servant  of  the  Lord/  as  he  thinks  himself — that  he 
should  stand  there  and  not  say  a  word  for  me.  Ah, 
if  Mr.  Harding  had  been  there — " 

A  dozen  fat  little  birds,  believing  that  the  time 
for  their  breakfast  had  arrived,  flew  about  Agatha's 

20 1 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


head  chirping  lustily.     She  threw  a  few  bits  of  bread 
upon  the  snow. 

"  You're  greedy  and  quarrelsome,  you  birds,"  she 
said,  "  but  I  don't  believe  you  gossip  and  lie  about 
each  other.  If  I  thought  you  did,  I'd  never  give  you 
a  bit  of  food  again,  never." 

At  that  moment  she  perceived  a  neat  little  figurr 
coming  up  the  path.  It  was  that  of  Nelly  Nevins 
the  prankish  schoolgirl  who  had  made  existence  such 
a  burden  for  Librarian  Emerson  on  the  day  of  the 
Camera  Club's  outing.  Nelly  was  an  honest  and 
warm-hearted  young  thing  who  had  become  very 
fond  of  Agatha  in  their  somewhat  limited  compan- 
ionship, and  whom  Agatha  liked  in  turn  for  her  gen- 
erous impulses  and  lack  of  snobbishness.  She  was 
glad  to  see  her  this  morning,  for  she  felt  that  the 
bright  girl  would  be  in  some  degree  an  antidote  for 
her  own  melancholy. 

"  Come  right  up,  Nelly,"  she  cried  cordially,  "  you 
know  the  way." 

She  found  her  little  friend  in  a  very  unusual  frame 
of  mind.  For  a  wonder,  Nelly  was  ill  at  ease,  and 
instead  of  the  roguish  questions  she  generally  asked 
Agatha  as  to  how  she  was  getting  on  in  "  society," 
she  seemed  at  loss  for  words,  incredible  as  that 
would  have  been  to  Mr.  Emerson. 

"  What  would  you  do,  Agatha  ?  "  she  queried  at 
last,  "  if  you  were  ordered  not  to  do  something  you 
wanted  to  do,  and  knew  was  all  right  to  do,  and 
thought  you  ought  to  do,  and — oh,  dear,  oh,  dear, 
I  know  I'm  talking  nonsense,  but  I'm  the  wretched- 
est  girl — oh,  you  can't  imagine !  " 

202 


THE  PATH  OF  THE  STORM 

"  Why,  Nelly,  dear,"  said  Agatha,  stroking  the 
sunny  hair  affectionately,  "  what's  the  trouble  ?  I 
didn't  know  you  had  a  grief  in  the  world." 

"  I  didn't,"  sobbed  the  girl,  "  until  yesterday  after- 
noon." 

Yesterday  afternoon!  At  that  time,  too,  had 
come  Agatha's  most  intense  bitterness.  An  evil  co- 
incidence, she  thought.  But  if  she  herself  had  no 
comforter,  she  would  be  one  to  Nelly. 

"  Well,  dear,"  she  asked  gently,  "  and  what  hap- 
pened yesterday  afternoon?  " 

Then.  Nelly  poured  forth  her  story  excitedly.  She 
had  been  told  by  her  aunt  that  she  must  not  see  or 
speak  to  Agatha  any  more.  There  had  been  dread- 
ful stories ;  Agatha  had  been  shown  to  be  a  bad  girl, 
and  not  fit  for  her  association.  Her  aunt  had  been 
very  severe  and  had  ordered  her  to  break  off  all  rela- 
tions with  her  friend.  It  was  horrible;  what  was 
she  to  do  ? 

Agatha  listened  with  a  face  as  rigid  as  marble  and 
a  heart  turned  as  cold.  So  this  inky  cloud  of 
scandal,  as  mysterious  as  it  was  appalling,  had  al- 
ready enveloped  her  best  liked  girl  companion. 

"  But,"  went  on  Nelly,  "  I  told  Aunt  that  I  didn't 
believe  a  thing  of  all  the  stuff,  that  I  knew  you 
were  a  good  girl,  and  that  I  loved  you  and  always 
would.  And  I  know  why  they  are  making  such  a 
fuss;  the  spiteful  old  cats  are  jealous  because  Guy 
Hamilton  speaks  to  you." 

Ah,  the  light;  cold,  cruel,  pitiless,  but  still  the 
light,  poured  from  the  innocent  heart  of  a  schoolgirl. 
In  that  instant  the  mists  rolled  away  from  before 

203 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


Agatha's  mind  and  she  saw  many  things  clearly. 
Not  all,  for  she  was  as  yet  ignorant  of  the  origin  o£ 
the  infamous  scandal,  but  she  could  now  understand 
Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh's  enmity  and  the  scene  in 
the  vestry. 

"  So  it  is  Mr.  Hamilton's  name  they  couple  with 
mine,"  she  said,  in  a  strange  tone  that  made  Nelly's 
tears  break  forth  again. 

The  girl  nodded  her  golden  head  several  times 
affirmatively. 

"What  do  they  say?" 

"  I  wouldn't  listen  to  them.  I  said  they  were 
horrid  to  talk  about  you." 

"  You  are  a  dear,  good  girl,  Nelly ;  I  wish  I  had 
more  friends  like  you." 

"  But  what  can  I  do  ?  "  asked  Nelly  plaintively. 
"  If  I  cut  you,  I'll  lose  your  respect  and  love,  and  if 
I  don't  they'll  send  me  away  to  boarding-school 
and  forbid  my  writing  to  you.  So  I  promised  I'd 
not  come  here  to  see  you  any  more.  That's  better 
than  being  sent  away  off  where  I  wouldn't  be  able  to 
see  you  even  accidentally/' 

"  You  have  done  perfectly  right,  Nelly,  and  now 
that  I  know  the  reason,  I  shall  not  be  a  bit  offended 
at  whatever  you  do.  We'll  leave  it  to  time,  dear, 
and  it  will  come  out  all  right  in  the  end." 

After  her  staunch  little  friend  had  gone.  Agatha 
quickly  decided  on  her  course  of  action.  She  went 
down  to  the  library  and  rang  for  the  butler. 

"  Will  you  ask  Mr.  Hamilton  to  come  here  a  mo- 
ment, John  ?  "  she  said  to  the  prim  servant. 

204 


THE  PATH  OF  THE  STORM 

"  He's  not  down  yet,  Miss." 

"  Please  go  to  his  room,  then,  and  say  that  I  wish 
to  see  him  at  his  earliest  convenience." 

"  Yes,  Miss." 

When  the  wondering-  Guy  appeared,  looking 
rather  worn  from  his  previous  night's  experience, 
the  girl  opened  her  attack  without  ceremony. 

"  There  is  a  scandal  connecting  my  name  and 
yours,  Mr.  Hamilton;  do  you  know  what  the  cause 
of  it  is?" 

In  a  dazed  sort  of  fashion  he  pleaded  ignorance. 
It  was  impossible,  he  said  to  himself,  that  she  could 
have  heard  of  last  night's  scene  at  the  club.  What 
else  could  possibly  be  in  the  wind? 

She  persisted.  "  You  do  not  know,  then,  that  we 
are  being  talked  about  unpleasantly?  " 

"  No." 

"  What  have  I  done  to  deserve  this  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  he  admitted  gloomily. 

"  Then  what  have  you  done  that  subjects  me  to 
it?" 

"  I — I  have  done  nothing,  nothing,  Agatha,  I  as- 
sure you." 

Her  lip  curled  with  scorn  and  he  saw  a  look  in 
her  eyes  that  he  instinctively  felt  meant  grave  danger 
to  himself. 

"  I  feel  that  you  are  not  speaking  the  truth,  Mr. 
Hamilton.  I  shall  confide  in  your  aunt  this  morn- 
ing." 

He  felt  his  house  of  cards  tumbling  about  his  ears 
in  an  instant.  Once  let  that  keen  old  woman  interest 

205 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


herself  in  this  affair,  and  trouble  would  follow  as 
surely  as  night  the  day.  It  was  a  catastrophe  he 
must  avert. 

"  You — you  will  tell  her  ?  "  he  asked  pathetically. 

"  Everything  that  has  occurred ;  all  that  I  have 
heard." 

"  No,  no,  Agatha,  there's  a  good  girl ;  I  wouldn't 
do  it  if  I  were  you ;  it  will  cause  her  a  great  deal  of 
pain." 

"  Perhaps ;  but  I  am  to  be  considered  now.  I  owe 
it  to  myself,  my  grandfather  and  my  mother  that  I 
am  cleared  from  this  awful  suspicion." 

Rage  for  her  obstinacy  and  the  old  slumbering 
passion  for  the  physical  Agatha  blazed  up  together 
within  him  till  he  lost  all  sense  of  proportion,  all 
power  of  self-control.  He  seized  her  roughly  by 
the  wrist. 

"  Listen  to  me,  Agatha,"  he  exclaimed  vehe- 
mently, "  it's  a  nasty  mess,  but  really  I'm  not  re- 
sponsible. We  can't  live  it  down  in  this  beastly 
country  town.  We  might  as  well  be  hung  for  sheep 
as  lambs.  Let's  cut  stick,  and  go  away  together." 

"  I — don't — understand." 

"  Go  away  with  me  to  a  big  city — New  York.  No 
one  will  know  you  there.  We  can  change  our  names. 
Come  Agatha ;  you  know  I  love  you ;  give  me  your 
answer." 

All  the  fury  of  the  girl's  fervid  temperament,  all 
the  pent-up  emotion  of  hours  of  brooding  burst  forth 
in  a  torrent  the  like  of  which  she  had  never  known 
before.  This  was  the  crowning  degradation — to  be 

206 


THE  PATH  OF  THE  STORM 

made  little  of  by  such  a  man,  to  be  talked  to  like  a 
girl  of  the  streets. 

"  Love  me !  "  she  cried,  "  you !  And  you  again  in- 
sult me !  " 

He  would  have  uttered  some  further  protestation, 
some  new  plea  for  his  baseness  but  the  words  were 
frozen  on  his  lips  by  the  appearance  of  his  aunt, 
grim  and  terrifying,  on  the  threshold.  For  him  the 
world  seemed  turned  topsy-turvy;  for  Agatha  an 
angel  of  light  had  come  to  be  her  companion. 

"  I  will  give  you  your  answer,"  said  the  old 
woman  icily.  "  Leave  this  house,  and  never  enter 
it  again.  Your  belongings  will  be  sent  to  you." 

"  No,  no,"  exclaimed  Agatha  in  dire  distress,  "  let 
me  go,  Mrs.  Copeland." 

For  reply  her  benefactor  folded  her  to  her  arms 
and  stroked  her  temples  compassionately.  In  this 
act  of  affection  Guy  saw  the  end  of  his  hopes,  the 
cessation  of  his  life  of  ease.  In  the  terror  that 
struck  across  his  scul  he  humbled  himself  before 
them  both. 

"  Hear  me,  Aunt  Sarah,"  he  pleaded,  "  before  you 
judge  me  in  such  a  way.  I  have  meant  well  by 
Agatha ;  I  have  indeed.  I  have  been  crazed  by  drink 
and — and  trouble.  I  am  willing  to  sink  all  personal 
pride  and  marry  her;  yes,  I  will  give  her  my  name, 
and  she  shall  lord  it  over  them  all  if  she  wishes. 
What  more  could  a  man  do  ?  " 

"  You  have  heard,  my  dear ;  shall  I  speak  fof 
you  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Copeland. 

The  head  on  her  shoulder  nodded  an  assent. 
207 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  Then  I  tell  you,  Guy,  nephew  of  mine  though 
you  are,  that  I  would  rather  see  Agatha  dead  at  my 
feet  than  your  wife.  Now  go;  my  house  can  be 
your  home  no  longer." 

Hamilton  went  out  like  one  in  a  trance.  He 
realized  in  a  dull  way  that  the  pleasant  thread  of 
his  life  had  been  snapped  asunder,  that  henceforth 
he  was  to  be  an  alien  to  the  noble  estate  he  had  once 
hoped  to  inherit.  He  strode  down  the  path  and  into 
the  street  with  no  object  in  view,  except,  perhaps,  to 
find  a  friend  in  his  hour  of  need.  Friends?  They 
would  be  few  enough  once  the  story  of  his  downfall 
should  be  made  public.  Even  Claybourne  would 
very  likely  turn  him  a  cold  shoulder.  He  directed 
his  steps  toward  the  club  in  the  chance  that  that 
worthy  might  be  there;  he  would  tell  him  all  his 
woes,  and  take  advantage  of  his  valuable  advice. 

After  Guy's  exit,  Agatha's  overtaxed  brain  gave 
way  completely  under  the  accumulation  of  trouble 
that  had  borne  down  upon  her.  She  was  seized  by 
an  attack  of  hysterical  mirth,  followed  by  a  fainting 
fit  of  such  long  duration  that  Mrs.  Copeland  sent 
for  Dr.  Hackett  in  a  great  hurry. 

"  The  girl's  been  overworked,"  said  the  bluff  old 
physician,  "  and  has  been  subjected  to  a  great  nerv- 
ous strain  of  some  sort.  Let  her  get  a  good  night's 
rest,  and  she'll  be  all  right  in  the  morning." 

Reassured  by  this  statement,  Mrs.  Copeland  went 
away  to  an  important  engagement,  leaving  Agatha 
lying  down  in  care  of  one  of  the  housemaids,  After 
a  little  she  dismissed  the  servant  and  lay,  with  half- 
closed  eyes,  trying  in  some  fashion  to  peer  into  her 

208 


'Now  go!     my  house  can  be  your  home  no  longer.' 


THE  PATH  OF  THE  STORM 

own  future.  As  in  a  dream  she  heard  the  doorbell 
ring,  and  then  became  aware  of  the  presence  of 
John,  the  butler.  He  mentioned  the  name  of  Hank 
Donelson,  and  her  wandering  faculties  came  home 
in  an  instant. 

As  she  arose  to  greet  the  honest  little  sailor, 
Agatha  was  filled  with  dread  by  what  she  saw  in  his 
face.  The  grief  that  was  so  plainly  pictured  there 
spoke  of  still  another  calamity  on  this  terrible  day. 

"  What  is  it,  Hank  ?  "  she  asked  nervously,  "  is 
anything  the  matter  with — with " 

"  Now,  Miss  Aggy,  don't  be  skeered,  don't  be 
skeered,"  he  said  gently.  "  It  may  not  be  so  bad 
arter  all.  But  yer  gran'ther,  Cap'n  Joel,  has  been 
struck  down  at  the  wheel. 

"  At  the  wheel  ?   I  don't  quite  know " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Aggy.  He  was  readin'  a  little  note 
when  all  to  onct  he  got  dizzy  like,  an'  fell  over  in 
his  chair.  The  doctor  says  as  how  it's  a  stroke. 
Will  ye  come  down  as  soon  as  ye  can  ?  " 

Without  a  word  Agatha  put  on  her  coat  and  hat, 
and  beckoned  Hank  to  follow.  Then  together  they 
left  the  house,  and  hastened  to  the  old  "  Harpoon." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

CAPTAIN  JOEL  SAILS  AWAY 

AS  Agatha  walked  to  the  home  of  her  child- 
hood, her  feet  ever  urged  onward  by  love 
and  the  fear  of  disaster,  she  thought  of  the 
determination  she  had  taken  that  very  morning  to 
leave  the  mansion  on  Bristol  Street  forever,  and 
return  to  her  grandfather,  for  a  time  at  least. 

She  had  tested  "  society  " — or,  at  any  rate,  cer- 
tain eminent  members  of  it — and  she  had  found  how 
insincere,  if  not  evil,  was  its  heart.  How  mean  and 
shallow  they  all  were  compared  with  the  staunch 
old  friends  of  her  girlish  days.  Only  Mrs.  Cope- 
land  was  true,  but  even  with  her  affection  and  con- 
fidence, Agatha  had  now  begun  to  feel  like  an  in- 
terloper in  the  house. 

She  had  been  the  cause  of  the  expulsion  from  his 
Eden  of  the  old  lady's  only  near  kinsman,  had 
aroused  the  bitterness  of  hate  between  those  of  the 
same  blood.  Oh,  what  a  miserable  failure  she  had 
been;  what  a  wretched  defeat  of  her  dear  ambitions 
had  come  at  last. 

Her  one  consolation  was  that  her  valuable  ex- 
perience in  business  and  finance  under  Mrs.  Cope- 
land  would  make  it  very  easy  for  her  to  earn  a 

2IO 


CAPTAIN  JOEL  SAILS  AWAY 

livelihood  for  herself  and  her  grandfather  in  better 
surroundings  than  the  "  Harpoon  "  could  offer.  She 
had  wondered  with  a  smile  if  she  could  induce  the 
old  tar  to  desert  his  beloved  ship,  to  "  strike  colors," 
as  he  would  put  it. 

But  now  she  realized  with  an  aching  heart  that 
the  gallant  soul  might  be  called  from  its  home  by 
an  authority  that  admitted  of  no  dispute.  As  she 
hurried  into  the  entrance  of  Tuckerman's  wharf, 
her  eyes  sought  first  of  all  the  little  mast  at  the  bow 
of  the  "  Harpoon."  Thank  God,  the  flag  was  flying 
and  at  the  top  of  the  staff. 

She  was  met  on  the  deck  by  Dr.  Hackett,  who 
was  kind,  but  not  sanguine.  He  could  not  find  it 
in  his  heart  to  deceive  this  pretty  young  creature, 
to  drug  her  aching  foreboding  into  temporary  quiet. 

He  told  her  how  serious  was  such  an  attack  in  an 
old  man,  that  there  was  a  chance  for  his  partial  re- 
covery, but  only  a  slender  one.  He  accompanied 
her  to  the  large  cabin,  and  called  old  Captain  Sykes 
from  the  smaller  compartment  where  Captain  Joel 
lay  on  the  bunk  that  he  would  not  have  exchanged 
for  the  softest  bed  of  down  in  Christendom. 

"  Poor  girl,"  he  said  to  the  veteran,  whose  round 
face  was  an  unwonted  picture  of  woe,  "  let  her  be 
with  him  while  she  may;  it  will  not  be  for  long1. 
We'll  go  up  on  deck  and  be  within  call." 

Agatha  crept  into  the  little  cabin  with  loving 
solicitude,  but  the  old  man  heard  her,  for  he  turned 
his  dimmed  eyes  to  her  fare,  and  she  saw  in  them 
the  light  of  recognition.  She  summoned  all  her  self- 
control  that  she  might  appear  calm. 

211 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  Grandfather,  it  is  I,  Agatha,"  she  said  softly, 
approaching  the  bunk. 

The  old  lips  trembled  into  a  smile,  and  he  nodded 
his  head  slowly. 

•  It  was  the  girl's  first  coming  face  to  face  with 
serious  illness,  but  her  woman's  heart  told  her  what 
to  do.  She  smoothed  the  pillow  under  the  snowy 
head,  and  rearranged  the  bedclothes  deftly.  She 
took  the  rough  hand  in  hers,  and  was  rewarded  by 
a  feeble  pressure  of  love  and  gratitude. 

She  sat  down  by  the  bedside  and  mournfully 
gazed  at  the  splendid  head  brought  low.  Was  this, 
then,  to  be  the  end  of  her  new  resolution?  Was 
she  to  be  thrust  back  into  the  life  she  had  just  de- 
cided to  forswear  ?  For  the  first  time  fate  loomed  up 
before  her  as  an  active  element  of  existence;  there 
were  things  she  could  not  control,  be  she  never  so 
brave  nor  so  honest. 

The  captain  began  to  mutter  indistinct  phrases  in 
delirium.  She  bent  over  to  catch  his  words,  terri- 
fied at  the  weird  manifestation  which  seemed  to  her 
as  the  touch  of  another  world. 

His  grip  on  her  hand  suddenly  became  strong  and 
vice-like,  so  that  she  could  have  cried  out  with  pain, 
had  not  a  greater  agony  possessed  her.  After  a 
little  his  babbling  became  intelligible. 

"  After  him,  after  him,  messmates,"  he  cried,  try- 
ing to  raise  himself  upon  his  poor,  palsied  elbow, 
"  give  me  the  long  dart — A-ah — Well  struck,  my 
hearties.  So  much  more  prize  money  for  us  all — 
Struck? — Who  struck? — Who  struck  my  Alice  to 

212 


CAPTAIN  JOEL  SAILS  AWAY 

the  heart?  Eh?  What  coward  killed  my  girl  with 
his  vile  hand  ? — There — that's  his  face — Oh,  I  know 
you  Francois  Renier,  you  spawn  of  hell ! " 

In  her  fright  at  this  awful  vehemence,  Agatha 
could  think  of  but  one  thing  to  do  to  calm  her  grand- 
father. She  drew  the  little  gold  locket  from  her 
bosom,  opened  it  and  held  the  face  of  her  mother 
before  the  old  man's  eyes.  He  smiled  with  a  touch 
of  almost  celestial  sweetness. 

"  Yes,  Alice,  my  dear,  dear  girl,  I  know  you  are 
pure  and  good.  The  world  may  have  its  say ;  we'll 
live  and  laugh  at  it — Miss  Petticoats,  too — what 
funny  French — for  a  funny  little  tot — There,  there — 
she  can  walk — Come  to  your  old  grandpa,  and  we'll 
r  ide-a-cock-horse. ' ' 

Of  a  sudden  this  mood  was  in  turn  changed,  and 
the  captain  with  a  supreme  effort  almost  raised  him- 
self to  a  sitting  posture.  His  face  was  distorted  by 
anger. 

"She  do  wrong — my  innocent  darling?  How 
dare  they  ?  How  dare  they  say  it  ?  Let  me  go  and 
face  them,  and  I'll " 

As  he  fell  back  exhausted,  Agatha  gave  a  little 
cry  of  horror.  She  thought  that  the  angel  of  death 
had  already  come,  and  she  threw  herself  upon  her 
grandfather's  breast. 

But  the  end  was  not  yet.  Dr.  Hackett,  who  had 
heard  the  noise,  hurried  down  and  reassured  the 
girl.  The  old  man  sank  into  sleep  from  which  he 
would  probably  wake,  the  physician  said,  fully  con- 
scious and  rational.  But  this  did  not  mean  hope,  he 

213 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


added.  He  would  return  in  an  hour;  meantime 
Hank  and  Captain  Sykes  would  be  on  deck,  if  they 
were  needed. 

As  Agatha  looked  about  the  larger  cabin  she  was 
filled  with  remorse  at  the  changed  appearance  of  the 
room.  Not  that  things  had  altered  a  great  deal, 
but  there  was  a  lack  of  that  divine  something  that 
comes  from  the  touch  of  a  woman's  hand.  She  felt 
that  she  had  been  a  deserter,  had  left  an  old  man  to 
his  loneliness — and  for  what? 

She  was  going  about  sadly  putting  things  to 
rights  when  a  bit  of  crumpled  paper  on  a  bench  at- 
tracted her  attention.  She  would  have  thrown  it 
into  the  fire,  had  not  an  envelope  on  the  floor  near 
by  stayed  her  hand.  All  at  once  she  remembered 
what  Hank  had  said — that  the  captain  was  reading 
a  little  note  when  he  was  stricken. 

Mechanically  she  turned  the  envelope  over  and 
looked  at  the  superscription.  In  full,  round  hand  it 
read : — 

"  Captain  Stewart, 

"  The    Harpoon, 

"  Tuckerman's  Wharf." 

She  looked  again  at  the  paper  and  saw  that  folded 
once  as  it  lay  in  her  hand  it  just  fitted  the  envelope. 
Anything  connected  with  the  loved  old  man  was  of 
solemn  interest  to  the  girl,  and  she  opened  the  let- 
ter with  a  feeling  of  awe.  The  words  that  met  her 
eye  were  seared  into  her  mind  as  with  a  red-hot 
brand. 

If  Captain  Stewart  loves  his  granddaughter,  he 
will  take  her  from  the  Copeland  house  without  de- 

214 


CAPTAIN  JOE'L  SAILS  AWAY 

lay.  Her  conduct  with  Mrs.  Copeland's  nephew  is 
the  scandal  of  the  town. 

Stung  to  madness  as  she  was  by  this  new  attack, 
this  horrible  assault  from  ambush,  it  was  some  time 
before  she  fully  realized  the  full  import  of  the  words. 
"  The  scandal  of  the  town,  the  scandal  of  the  town  " 
kept  singing  themselves  through  her  tortured  brain. 
She  shed  no  tears;  it  seemed  as  if  that  fountain  of 
sorrow  had  been  utterly  dried  up  by  the  events  of 
the  past  two  days. 

At  last  her  reasoning  faculties  began  to  assert 
themselves,  and  first  of  all  came  the  natural  wonder 
who  had  stooped  to  such  unutterable  vileness.  She 
examined  the  note  with  some  care,  and  found  that 
she  did  not  know  the  handwriting;  it  looked  forced 
and  unnatural,  and  was  evidently  disguised.  No 
clue  was  to  be  gained  from  the  envelope. 

She  took  the  letter  to  the  cabin  lamp  and  gazed 
at  the  words  as  if  she  would  extract  their  secret. 
Happening  to  hold  the  paper  between  herself  and 
the  light,  she  saw  embedded)  in  the  very  fabric  itself 
the  letters  "  A.C." 

Then  the  paper  had  come  from  the  Attawam 
Club;  she  knew  that,  for  she  remembered  once 
hearing  Guy  say  that  the  club  had  its  stationery 
made  to  order  and  with  the  watermark  of  its  own 
initials. 

"  Who  could  have  done  such  a  thing  ?  "  she  asked 
herself  over  and  over  again.  If  she  herself  must 
be  made  a  victim  to  someone's  unreasoning  hatred, 
was  it  necessary  to  wound  the  heart  of  a  simple  and 
inoffensive  old  man? 

215 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


This  thought  filled  her  with  a  new  terror.  Now 
she  understood  Hank's  remark  to  the  utmost.  It 
was  this  dastardly  letter  that  had  struck  down  her 
grandfather  and  was  probably  to  carry  him  to  his 
grave.  As  she  thought  of  what  it  meant  to  be  bereft 
of  her  brave  and  tender-hearted  old  protector,  she 
could  have  killed  the  unknown  author  of  the 
calumny  and  cheerfully  have  suffered  whatever 
penalty  the  act  entailed. 

A  movement  in  the  bunk  attracted  her  attention. 
Crushing  the  letter  in  her  hand,  she  turned  and,  look- 
ing into  the  little  room,  saw  her  grandfather  feebly 
trying  to  beckon  to  her.  She  was  at  his  side  in  a 
moment. 

"  Aggy,  dear,"  he  whispered. 

"  Yes,  grandfather,  I  am  here.  I  shall  always  be 
here  now.  I  shall  not  leave  you  any  more." 

"  No,  dearie,  you  will  not  leave  me ;  I  am  the  one 
who  is  going.  My  course  in  this  world  is  pretty 
near  sailed.  I'm  going  to  start  on  the  great  v'yge." 

"  Oh,  no,  no,  grandfather,  you  mustn't  say  such 
things,"  sobbed  the  girl. 

"  It  must  be ;  the  orders  have  been  given.  I'd 
like  to  stay  for — for  you,  but  the  Captain  says 
not." 

He  tried  to  raise  himself  up,  and  looked  about 
anxiously  as  if  in  search  of  something. 

"  What  is  it,  grandfather?  What  do  you  want?  " 
asked  Agatha. 

"  I — I — dropped  a  scrap  of  paper  in  the  cabin  a 
while  ago.  I'd  like  to  find  it." 

"  Is  it  this  ?  "  asked  Agatha,  holding  up  the  letter. 
216 


CAPTAIN  JOEL  SAILS  AWAY 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  with  a  searching  look  before 
which  she  lowered  her  eyes.  "  Have  you  read  it?  " 

She  bowed  her  head. 

"  Poor,  dear  child.    Too  bad,  too  bad!  " 

"  Grandfather !    You  do  not " 

"How  can  you  hint  at  such  a  thing-?"  he  said 
sternly.  "la  mutineer  against  my  own  flesh  and 
blood?  Of  course  I  knew  it  couldn't  be,  my 
precious." 

"  Thank  God  for  that,"  she  exclaimed  with  fer- 
vent tears. 

"Aggy." 

"  Yes." 

"  What  was  that  poem  you  read  me  the  last  time 
you  were  down  here?  The  one  about  a  pilot,  you 
know.  Say  the  lines  about  the  pilot." 

"  I  hope  to  meet  my  Pilot  face  to  face 
When  I  have  crost  the  bar." 

repeated  Agatha,  in  a  voice  broken  with  grief. 

"  Yes,  that's  it.  My  pilot  is  here  already ;  he's 
waiting  for  me  to  get  aboard.  He's  standing  there 
— there — behind  you.  I  can't  see  you  now;  so 
dark,  and  it's  yet  early — tell  them  to  light  the  mast- 
head lantern — I — I — Agatha,  where  are  you  ?  " 

"  Here,  grandpa." 

"  There,  that's  a  good  girl ;  you  always  were  a 
good  girl.  Kiss  me.  God  ble " 

With  a  deep  sigh  the  noble  old  mariner  set  out 
upon  that  last  mysterious  voyage  which  mortal  hand 
has  never  yet  charted,  and  from  which  no  ship  re- 
turns to  port. 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


Agatha  looked  helplessly  for  a  moment  at  the 
still  face  before  her.  Then  comprehension  gradu- 
ally crept  into  her  face.  She  gently  forced  apart 
the  fingers  that  held  the  letter,  and  secreted  it  in  her 
dress.  In  another  moment  the  full  flood  of  her  sor- 
row rushed  in  upon  her,  and  with  a  long  cry  of 
agony  she  fell  prostrate  upon  the  floor. 

Hank  Donelson  and  Captain  Sykes  clambered 
down  the  companionway  with  blanched  faces.  They 
knew  too  well  the  meaning  of  that  scream.  From 
the  figure  on  the  floor  they  looked  to  the  white 
features  in  the  bunk. 

"  My  God,"  blubbered  Sykes,  "  Joel's  sailed  away, 
an'  we  weren't  here  to  say  good-by." 

Hank  said  never  a  word,  but  with  tears  rolling 
down  his  ruddy  cheeks  stole  up  on  deck  and  out  to 
the  bow.  There  he  hauled  the  flag  down  to  the 
deck,  walked  slowly  around  it  three  times,  and  then 
raised  it  solemnly  to  half-mast. 

A  self-appointed  and  tireless  sentinel,  he  paced 
the  old  "  Harpoon  "  until  a  glow  in  the  east  pro- 
claimed the  birth  of  a  new  day. 


218 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A  WOMAN  SCORNED 

THE   two   old   sailors   had   at  first  thought 
Agatha  dead,  as  well  as  her  grandfather, 
when  they  found  her  prostrate  on  the  floor 
of  the  "  Harpoon's  "  cabin.    They  gazed  at  her  with 
awe,  neither  of  them  venturing  to  touch  the  beauti- 
ful white  face  or  to  raise  the  shapely  body  from 
its  hard  resting-place. 

Dr.  Hackett's  bustling  entrance  roused  them  from 
their  mournful  inaction,  his  *--^rmly  human  person- 
ality cheering  their  distressed  souls  as  by  magic ;  so 
deep  was  their  simple  faith  in  his  power  that  they 
would  not  have  marveled  very  much  had  he  re- 
stored their  friend  to  life. 

The  physician's  practised  eye  saw  at  once  that 
their  duty  was  to  the  living — the  girl  upon  the  floor. 
The  calm  face  in  the  bunk  spoke  of  peace  eternal. 
He  applied  some  simple  restorative  to  Agatha,  and 
soon  the  warm  tide  of  life  flowed  back  from  her 
heart,  but  she  awoke  to  but  a  dim  realization  of  the 
tragedy  about  her.  Her  brain  had  yielded  to  the 
intensity  of  the  strain  put  upon  it,  and  she  smiled 
vacuously  at  her  distressed  old  friends. 

"  Grandpa  is  asleep,"   she  whispered,   "  and  we 
219 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


must  make  no  noise;  he  is  so  easily  disturbed.  I 
think  I  will  go  to  bed,  too." 

The  arrival  of  Mrs.  Copeland  at  this  juncture  re- 
lieved Captain  Sykes  of  a  great  load  of  anxiety. 
She  had  been  thoroughly  frightened  when  she  re- 
turned home  to  find  Agatha  gone  away  in  her  con- 
dition, and  had  bidden  Jarries  to  drive  with  all  des- 
patch to  Tuckerman's  wharf.  She  now  stood  as  a 
ministering  angel  in  the  cabin  of  the  "  Harpoon." 

She  led  the  unresisting  girl  to  the  carriage,  into 
which  Anderson  lifted  her  with  tender  respect. 
There  Agatha  swooned  again,  and  when  home  was 
reached  she  was  in  a  state  of  complete  collapse. 

As  the  girl's  clothing  was  loosened,  the  fateful 
note  dropped  upon  the  floor.  Mrs.  Copeland  felt 
that  she  was  entitled  to  read  it,  and  she  did,  to  her 
horror  and  amazement.  She,  too,  discovered  the 
"  A.C."  watermark,  and  her  first  thought  was  of 
Guy.  She  thrilled  with  shame  and  indignation  that 
a  man  could  make  so  vile  a  thing  of  himself  for  the 
sake  of  future  expectations.  But  she  could  con- 
ceive of  no  one  else  with  a  shadow  of  motive,  or 
perhaps  a  heart  black  enough,  for  such  a  horrible 
assault. 

Dr.  Hackett  pronounced  Agatha's  illness  brain 
fever,  and  he  had  difficulty  in  saving  her  life.  For 
days  her  faint  spirit  hovered  on  the  borderland,  then 
came  back  to  earth.  During  the  anxious  weeks  Mrs. 
Copeland  played  the  nurse  with  a  loving  patience 
and  solicitude  that  recalled  other  days  in  her  life. 
She  came  to  love  the  girl  more  than  ever.  Few 
could  have  withstood  Agatha's  almost  pathetic  grati- 

220 


A  WOMAN  SCORNED 


tude  and  her  desire  to  get  well  that  she  might  be 
of  service  again. 

As  the  girl  slowly  came  to  her  strength,  the  good 
doctor  interposed  with  brusque  familiarity.  She 
must  have  complete  change  of  scene,  he  said,  must 
go  from  Old  Chetford  for  an  indefinite  period  if  her 
complete  recovery  were  to  be  expected.  The  con- 
tinuance of  old  associations  would  be  disastrous,  he 
insisted.  Mrs.  Copeland  approved  of  the  idea,  and, 
in  pursuance  of  her  plan,  went  to  Worth-Court- 
leigh's  office  one  day  to  make  arrangements  for  the 
care  of  her  property  during  any  length  of  time  she 
might  stay  away.  She  trusted  the  hard-headed 
lawyer  implicitly,  and  she  gave  him  full  power  of 
attorney  to  act  in  her  behalf  in  any  business  matter. 

"  By  the  way,  Mrs.  Copeland,"  he  said,  when  the 
important  details  had  been  settled,  "I  find  in  look- 
ing over  Captain  Stewart's  affairs  that  the  old  man 
assumed  some  obligations — in  Agatha's  interest, 
the  poor  old  fellow  thought,  I  suppose — that  must 
be  paid  directly.  What  do  you  think  it  best  to  do?  " 

"  I'll  pay  it  at  once ;  what's  the  amount  ?  "  asked 
the  lady,  drawing  her  check-book  from  her  satchel. 

But  even  as  her  pen  was  dipped  in  the  lawyer's 
ink,  a  second  thought  came  to  her.  She  realized 
that  Agatha's  peculiar  pride  might  rebel  at  any  pay- 
ment of  her  grandfather's  debts  without  her  knowl- 
edge, and  she  closed  the  check-book  with  a  snap. 

"  That  won't  do  at  all,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  ought 
to  have  known  better." 

"I  think,"  said  Worth-Courtleigh,  "that  we'd 
better  sacrifice  sentiment  and  sell  the  *  Harpoon.' 

221 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


Agatha  cannot  use  it  any  more,  and  it  would  just 
about  square  things  up.  The  other  little  property 
of  Captain  Stewart's  I  find  I  am  not  able  to  touch 
for  the  purpose." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  that  is  best,'5  returned  she  with 
a  sigh.  "  The  ways  of  the  world  are  not  the  ways 
of  sentiment." 

It  was  during  this  period  that  Mr.  Harding  justi- 
fied all  Mrs.  Copeland's  faith  and  regard.  He  was 
a  tower  of  strength  to  the  house,  and  his  cheery 
presence  and  entertaining  chat  did  much  to  help 
Agatha  on  to  recovery.  He,  most  of  all,  noticed  the 
immense  change  in  the  girl.  Physically  she  was 
wan,  listless  and  bereft  of  all  her  old  rounded  pretti- 
ness;  spiritually  she  was  a  different  Agatha.  No 
more  of  the  old  exuberance  was  visible,  yet  she  was 
still  as  kind  and  considerate  as  ever.  But  there  was 
a  touch  of  hardness,  a  suspicion  of  pessimism,  that 
he  did  not  like  to  see. 

"  The  crucible  of  suffering  has  refined  her  nature," 
he  thought.  "  I  hope  it  has  not  embittered  her  past 
all  sweetening." 

Once  when  some  visitor  chanced  to  mention  Guy's 
name,  he  saw  a  hatred  burn  in  the  brown  eyes  and 
set  the  fine  features  into  something  that  almost  ap- 
palled him. 

As  for  the  man  who  had  wrought  this  great 
change,  he  had  declined  to  accept  his  dismissal  from 
the  Copeland  mansion  as  final.  That  his  allowance 
had  not  yet  been  stopped  he  looked  upon  as  a  favor- 
able omen,  and  he  made  several  attempts  to  see  his 
aunt,  but  with  no  success.  James  Anderson  had  been 

222 


A  WOMAN  SCORNED 


temporarily  installed  as  butler,  during  an  illness  of 
the  solemn  John,  and  Guy  had  little  inclination  to 
attempt  to  force  his  way  into  the  house.  He  haunted 
the  club  perpetually,  but  his  morose  spirit  and  ex- 
cesses in  liquor  caused  him  to  be  let  alone  there. 
Even  Claybourne  avoided  him. 

When  Agatha  was  well  enough,  Mrs.  Copeland 
told  her  gently  about  the  proposed  selling  of-  the 
"  Harpoon."  She  approved  the  plan,  for,  while 
grateful  for  Mrs.  Copeland's  offer  of  assistance, 
^he  felt  that  her  grandfather  would  not  have  wished 
it  otherwise. 

At  first  she  did  not  take  kindly  to  the  suggestion 
of  going  abroad;  she  felt  that  she  should  stay  and 
face  the  little  world  of  Old  Chetford,  that  it  was 
beneath  her  moral  courage  to  run  away  under  fire. 
She  said  as  much  to  her  benefactress. 

"  But  Paris,  child,  Paris,"  the  old  woman  ex- 
claimed. 

Ah,  Paris!  The  city  of  her  childish  dreams, 
the  vision  of  her  artistic  nature,  and  above  all,  the 
home  of  her  ancestors!  Perhaps — but  she  had  seen 
so  many  air  castles  vanish  into  the  impenetrable 
ether  that  she  checked  herself ;  henceforth  she  would 
deal  with  the  hard,  common-sense  facts  of  life.  Yet 
Paris  won  her,  nevertheless,  and  she  made  prepara- 
tions for  going. 

Harding  advised  the  exodus  with  all  the  earnest- 
ness of  his  sincere  nature.  In  doing  this  he  was 
tugging  at  his  own  heart-strings,  for  he  knew  that 
with  the  departure  of  Agatha  and  Mrs.  Copeland 
much  of  his  own  interest  in  life  would  go,  too.  But 

223 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


he  felt  it  best  that  Agatha  should  grow  to  complete 
womanhood  away  from  Old  Chetford,  the  scene  of 
such  tremendous  shocks  to  her  faith  in  human 
nature. 

One  day,  at  Agatha's  request,  Harding  drove  her 
over  to  Mill  River,  and  in  a  little  old  church  there 
they  found  the  record  of  the  marriage  of  Alice, 
daughter  of  Joel  Stewart,  and  Frangois,  only  son  of 
Adolph  Renier,  Count  de  Fornay.  The  minister 
witnessed  the  copy  of  the  record  before  a  notary, 
and  Agatha  took  possession  of  the  paper.  When 
asked  by  Harding  what  she  meant  to  do  with  it,  she 
would  only  say: — 

"  The  day  may  come  when  I  shall  need  it." 

Just  before  Mrs.  Copeland  and  Agatha  were  to 
start  for  New  York,  whence  they  were  to  sail  for 
France,  Guy  made  one  last  desperate  attempt  to  see 
his  aunt.  To  his  great  joy  he  was  admitted  to  her 
presence.  The  old  lady  wasted  no  time  in  greetings, 
nor  did  she  allow  Guy  to  enter  upon  his  intended 
plea  of  mercy.  Going  straight  to  her  desk,  she 
brought  out  the  "  A.C."  note,  and  thrust  it  before 
his  eyes. 

"  Did  you  write  that?  "  she  asked  slowly. 

"To  whom?" 

"  To  Captain  Joel  Stewart ;  they  say  it  killed  him." 

Guy  read  with  ever  deepening  astonishment  and 
horror.  He  began  to  see  the  enormity  of  the  crime 
against  the  girl,  and  he  was  fairly  stunned  by  the 
discovery. 

"  Upon  my  soul,  Aunt,"  he  declared  earnestly, 
"  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it — know  nothing  of  it. 

224 


A  WOMAN  SCORNED 


You  surely  cannot  imagine  that  I  would  stoop  to 
such  a  thing  as  that  ?  " 

She  made  no  reply,  but  looked  at  him  in  her  cold 
and  searching  way.  Then  she  bade  him  an  emotion- 
less good-by,  and  he  left  the  house. 

He  hurried  to  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh's  with  new 
foreboding  heavy  in  his  heart.  Could  she  have  done 
this  thing,  and,  by  its  terrible  consequences,  have 
added  to  the  wrecking  of  his  fortunes?  It  was 
almost  incredible,  but  he  would  have  the  truth. 

The  woman's  exultant  face  when  he  told  her  of 
the  note  and  its  results,  was  enough;  she  was  self- 
condemned  before  a  man  who  was  himself  no 
pattern  of  morality,  but  whose  gorge  rose  at  such 
vileness. 

"  Great  God,  Lucy,"  he  whispered  hoarsely,  "  you 
don't  mean  that  you — you  wrote " 

"Yes,  I  did  write  it.  Hadn't  I  cause?  I  hated 
the  brat,  and  I  hate  her  now." 

He  stared  at  her  in  silence  for  a  moment. 

"  You  are  worse  than  I  thought  you,  Lucy,"  he 
said  slowly. 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course !  Because  I  have  made  it  un- 
comfortable for  the  doll  of  a  girl  you  are  in  love 
with.  Ah,  that's  the  truth,  and  you  wince  don't 
you?  So  now  she's  going  away,  and  you're  in 
mourning,  coming  up  here  to  do  the  Pharisee  over 
me.  You'll  have  time  enough  to  get  used  to  being 
without  her,  for  she'll  not  come  back  in  a  hurry,  I 
fancy." 

"  Yes,  time  enough,"  he  cried  in  a  storm  of  anger, 
"and  all  through  you.  But  I'll  not  have  time  to 

225 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


come  here  again,  for,  by  heaven,  I've  had  enough  of 
you." 

And  then,  despite  the  pleading  of  the  woman, 
in  whom  anger  had  been  succeeded  by  the  fear  of 
losing  her  all,  he  left  the  house  of  Robert  Worth- 
Courtleigh  never  to  enter  it  again. 


226 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
AT  HANK  DONELSON'S 

THE  Rev.  Mr.  Harding  sat  in  his  study  on 
the  Saturday  evening  after  the  departure  of 
Mrs.  Copeland  and  Agatha,  gazing  at  his 
open  fire  of  big  hickory  logs,  and  musing  on  many 
things  as  his  eye  was  held  by  the  flame-pictures  that 
danced  into  view  and  away  like  some  mysterious 
panorama  moved  by  elfin  hands.  His  most  cher- 
ished pipe  was  in  his  hand,  but  it  was  often  for- 
gotten in  the  larger  emotions  of  the  hour. 

Chiefly  his  thoughts  were  of  the  lovely  girl  whose 
wan  smile  as  she  had  bidden  him  an  earnest  farewell 
at  the  station  was  vivid  in  his  memory,  and  was  long 
to  remain  there  unchallenged.  Of  her  restoration 
to  health  and  bloom  he  had  no  manner  of  doubt ;  he 
only  feared  that  no  medicine  and  no  new  interests 
could  ever  quite  bring  back  the  beauty  of  innocent 
faith  in  the  goodness  of  the  world  that  had  once 
so  distinguished  her.  She  had  changed  utterly  from 
a  trusting  girl  to  a  reserved  and  self-centred  woman, 
as  a  sensitive  plant  closes  at  the  touch  of  a  rough 
hand. 

"  The  iron  has  entered  her  soul,  and  it  rankles. 
Poor  child.  She  has  a  long  path  of  shadows  to 
travel  before  she  gets  into  sun-land  again.  When 

227 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


she  does — well,  it  will  be  worth  some  man's  while 
to  be  there  to  see  the  unfolding  of  her  nature." 

He  took  a  last  critical  look  at  the  sermon  that 
was  ready  for  to-morrow's  preaching.  "  And  the 
greatest  of  these  is  charity  "  stood  out  in  bold  hand- 
writing on  the  first  page  of  the  manuscript. 

"Umph;  I'm  afraid,"  thought  the  clergyman, 
"  that  the  human  shell  is  quite  as  much  in  need  of 
charity  as  of  any  other  divine  attribute.  We  all 
agree  in  theory,  but  as  for  practice — ah,  we  differ 
as  violently  as  the  doctors  of  different  schools,  ex- 
cept that  we  are  prone  to  be  homeopaths,  and  give 
as  minute  doses  as  possible." 

As  he  read,  the  vision  of  that  Agatha  of  other 
days  would  come  before  the  written  words,  spite  of 
every  endeavor.  He  saw  her  brilliant,  vivacious, 
sweetly  imperious,  as  she  was,  he  remembered,  when 
with  shining  eyes  she  had  asked  his  definition  of  a 
gentleman.  The  scene  of  the  little  festival  in  the 
cabin  of  the  "  Harpoon,"  where  she  had  blushingly 
announced  her  intention  of  becoming  a  great  lady, 
was  still  vivid  before  him.  How  soon  had  his 
prophecy  of  the  disillusioning  come  to  pass.  He 
tossed  the  sermon  on  the  table,  and  arose  to  pace 
back  and  forth  before  the  fire, 

"  A  proud  creature,"  he  mused  again,  "  she  even 
preferred  to  sell  her  beloved  old  '  Harpoon '  rather 
than  accept  help  to  pay  her  grandfather's  debts — 
I  believe  I'll  go  down  to  see  Hank  and  find  out 
what's  been  done  in  the  matter.  The  cold  air  will 
blow  the  cobwebs  out  of  my  brain,  anyway." 

The  Donelsons  lived  in  a  quaint  little  wooden 
228 


AT  HANK  DONELSON'S 

house  on  a  quaint  little  cobble-paved  street  near  the 
water-front.  The  windows  gave  immediately  upon 
the  narrow  sidewalk,  and  as  Mr.  Harding  reached 
the  door  he  saw  a  queer  picture  within.  Hank's 
little  legs  were  stoutly  spread  apart,  like  those  of 
a  diminutive  Colossus  of  Rhodes,  in  the  attempt 
to  stretch  a  "  hooked  "  carpet  that  was  being  laid  by 
his  sister  Tilly  who  was  doubled  up  like  a  jackknife, 
driving  tacks. 

The  sitting-room,  where  this  ceremony  was  in 
progress,  was  a  tiny,  low-studded  apartment  with 
white  wood  wainscoting  reaching  as  high  as  a  man's 
waist,  and  walls  of  fantastically  stenciled  figures  of 
impossible  birds  flitting  about  amongst  weird  scrolls. 
Just  now  it  was  rather  devoid  of  furniture,  but 
on  the  broad  mantel  over  the  ancient  iron  Frank- 
lin stove  was  a  heterogeneous  collection  of  china 
dogs,  wax  flowers,  worsted  cushions  and  sea-shells, 
articles  dear  to  the  female  heart  of  Tilly's  kind.  In 
full  dress  the  room  boasted  a  black  walnut  "  what- 
not "  in  a  corner  devoted  to  curiosities,  a  set  of  slip- 
pery haircloth  furniture,  a  tall  diamond-windowed 
bookcase  and  a  fine  round  centre-table  of  mahogany, 
the  gift  to  Hank  from  an  old  captain  to  whom  he 
once  had  been  of  service.  Over  the  place  this  usually 
occupied  was  now  suspended  Nicodemus,  the  parrot. 

Tilly  greeted  the  clergyman  with  proper  respect, 
but  no  enthusiasm. 

"  Howdy  do,  Parson."  she  mumbled,  her  speech 
being  somewhat  impeded  by  a  mouthful  of  tacks. 
Hank  was  more  cordial,  and  evinced  a  disposition 
to  knock  off  work  in  honor  of  the  visit. 

229 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


11  Now,  you,  Hank  Donelson,"  sputtered  Tilly 
through  the  tacks,  "  you  jest  keep  right  on  stretch- 
in'  this  ere  carpet,  'cause  the  best  room's  got  to  be 
ready  for  Sunday,  minister  or  no  minister." 

"  Quite  right,  Tilly,"  assented  Harding  smil- 
ingly, "  business  before  pleasure  every  time.  Can- 
not I  help  you  in  some  way  ?  " 

"  Wall,  ef  you  want  to  be  useful,  jest  git  a  chair 
an'  put  it  in  the  middle  of  the  carpet,  then  set  on  it 
tis  hard  as  you  can.  When  I  say  '  push/  you  put 
yer  heel  in  an'  shove  the  carpet  toward  me  like  all- 
possessed." 

"  I'll  try,"  replied  the  clergyman  with  due  meek- 
ness, as  he  took  his  seat  and  waited  the  word. 
He  was  amused  at  Hank's  awkward  efforts  to  drive 
tacks,  and  the  deep  interest  that  Nicodemus  seemed 
to  take  in  the  operation. 

The  bird  was  sympathetic,  too,  for  once  when 
Hank  missed  his  aim  and  hit  his  fingers  an  ex- 
asperating blow,  Nicodemus  swore  roundly  and 
thereby  earned  the  little  tar's  deep  gratitude. 

"  Yer  see,  Parson,"  he  said,  "  I  couldn't  very 
well  cuss  with  you  in  the  room;  but  that  ere  bird, 
he  knows  the  ways  o'sailors,  havin'  lived  among 
'em  in  his  youth,  an'  he  helps  a  messmate  out 
amazin'.  I  hopes  as  how  ye'll  excuse  him,  for  in 
course  he  don't  know  as  how  ye're  a  minister;  ye 
don't  dress  like  one,  ye  know." 

Harding  laughed  heartily.  "  Well,  Hank,"  he 
said,  "  Nicodemus  isn't  the  only  creature  that  fails 
to  recognize  a  clergyman  except  by  his  black  coat 
and  white  choker ;  I  found  that  out  a  long  time  ago." 

230 


AT  HANK  DONELSOWS 

Between  hammer  taps  and  Mr.  Harding' s  "  push- 
ing forward  "  on  the  carpet  there  were  bits  of  con- 
versation, and,  as  a  matter  of  course,  the  talk  at  last 
centred  upon  Agatha.  Hank's  fear  lest  she  should 
become  "  Frenchified,"  and  learn  to  "  eat  frogs  " 
was  almost  pathetic;  the  simple-hearted  little  fel- 
low could  scarcely  comprehend  the  ethical  lesson  of 
the  girl's  departure.  But  the  shrewder  and  more 
worldly-wise  Tilly  understood,  and  was  not  slow 
in  uncorking  the  vials  of  her  wrath  on  Old  Chetford 
society. 

"  Hain't  them  big-bugs  nothin'  better  to  do,"  she 
asked  angrily,  "  than  to  gad  'round  tellin'  lies  'bout 
a  good  gal  like  Aggy  Renier,  whose  little  finger's 
wuth  the  hull  kit  an'  boodle  of  'em?  They'd  have 
enough  to  do  to  hum,  most  of  'em,  ef  they'd  only 
stay  there.  There's  a  lot  o'  glass  houses  up  on  the 
'  Hill,'  an'  thin  ones  at  that." 

She  emphasized  her  points  by  vigorous  flourishes 
of  her  hammer,  and  once  or  twice  unthinkingly  hit 
Hank's  neat  little  boots  as  a  means  of  laying  special 
stress  on  her  remarks.  He  was  glad  of  the  diver- 
sion which  came  presently. 

It  was  Susy  Brent,  the  morsel,  who  suddenly 
stood  in  the  doorway,  as  if  she  had  arisen  through 
the  floor.  It  was  characteristic  of  Susy  that  one 
never  heard  her  approach.  She  held  a  cup  in  her 
hand,  and  looked  appealingly  at  the  angular  mis- 
tress of  the  house. 

"  Come  to  borry  somethin',  eh  ? "  said  Tilly 
Sharply.  "  I  knew  it ;  your  ma  ain't  forehanded." 

"I  guess  she's  glad  she  ain't,  'cause  then  she'd 
231 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


have  ter  do  twict  as  much  work.     Say,  wuz  they 
ever  any  four-handed  folks  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Lord,"  ejaculated  Tilly,  "  the  ignorance  o' 
them  mill  people!  What  is  it  you  want  this  time?  " 

"  Ma  said  ef  yer  could  spare  a  cup  o'  merlasses — 
Billy's  been  cryin'  fer  somethin'  sweet  all  day,  an' — " 

"  There,  there,  child,  of  course  I'll  spare  it,"  said 
Tilly,  relenting.  And  she  went  to  get  the  desired 
commodity. 

As  she  left  the  room,  Nicodemus  sent  after  her 
retreating  figure  a  volley  of  execrations  that  fairly 
startled  even  the  case-hardened  little  Susy. 

"  My,  wot  a  awful  bird ! "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Don't  yer  do  nothin'  to  him  when  he  talks  so,  Mr. 
Donelson  ?  " 

"  Well,  Tilly  she  whips  the  critter  when  he  cuts 
tip  wuss  nor  usual,  an'  he  don't  dare  to  cuss  much 
when  she's  near.  But  onc't  let  her  go  out'n  the 
room,  an'  he  rips  out  blue  blazes.  Howsumever, 
he  don't  mean  any  harm  by  it,  an'  otherwise  he's 
durn  good  company.  So  I  allus  begs  hard  when 
Tilly  threatens  to  sell  him." 

Harding,  whose  fancy  had  been  taken  long  ago 
by  the  eerie  little  daughter  of  the  mills,  spoke  to 
Susy  kindly,  and  soon  had  her  completely  at  ease. 
Something  they  said  must  have  suggested  Agatha 
to  the  girl,  for  she  suddenly  asked : — 

"  The  pretty  young  lady  on  the  '  Hill ' — her  as 
used  to  live  in  the  '  Harpoon,'  an'  work  in  Number 
One — hain't  she  gone  away  ?  " 

"  So  you  know  that?  " 

232 


AT  HANK  DONELSONS 

"  Yes ;  she's  gone  on  a  big  ship,  they  say.  I'm 
sorry,  I  am;  she  wuz  kind  to  me." 

"  She  is  kind  to  everybody." 

"  Yes,  I  guess  she  is.  An'  everybody  had  ought 
to  love  her,  hadn't  they  ?  Do  you  love  her  ?  " 

This  matter-of-fact  question  from  a  child  thrilled 
Harding  through  and  through.  It  was  more  than 
he  had  hitherto  dared  ask  even  himself.  Now  he 
felt  like  crying  out  his  answer :  "  Yes,  I  do  love 
her;  I  love  her  with  all  my  heart  and  soul;  I  shall 
always  love  her !  "  But  as  men  will,  he  held  his 
peace,  and  gave  himself  up  to  his  riotous  thoughts. 

"  Well,  /  loves  her,"  said  Susy,  after  regarding 
him  solemnly  for  a  time.  "  Why  did  she  go  away  ?  " 

"  She  has  been  very  ill." 

"  Spects  she  got  cold  up  to  the  Chris'mas  shindy 
at  the  church." 

"  Oh,  you  were  there,  weren't  you  ?  " 

"  She  went  home  widout  her  pretty  red  cloak. 
How  I'd  like  one,"  she  sighed.  "  I  wuz  a-goin'  to 
take  it  over  to  her  house,  but  Mrs.  What's-her-name 
took  care  of  it  and  wrapped  it  up  nice  in  paper." 

"  A  red  cloak?  "  asked  Harding  vehemently,  as  a 
great  light  began  to  shine  in  upon  him.  "  Who 
took  it,  Susy?  What  was  her  name?  " 

"  I  can't  remember.  But  she's  the  stylish,  red- 
haired  lady  wot  lives  in  the  lop-sided  big  house  on 
Thorn  Street." 

"  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh !  "  exclaimed  the  min- 
ister, jumping  to  his  feet  with  an  air  of  sudden  con- 
viction. 

233 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


Susy's  surprise  at  this  very  unusual  exhibition  of 
excitement  from  a  clergyman  was  cut  short  by  the 
call  of  Tilly  from  the  entry : 

"  Here's  your  molasses,  you  wretched  mite." 

Out  in  the  dark  hall  a  wonderful  thing  happened 
to  the  little  girl.  Her  hands  and  pockets  were  filled 
with  cookies,  and  then  she  was  kissed  and  pushed 
out  of  the  front  door.  As  Tilly  reentered  the  sitting- 
room  she  rubbed  her  eyes  with  her  apron,  and  de- 
clared that  coming  into  the  light  from  the  dark 
"  always  did  make  'em  run  water." 

When  the  carpet  had  been  laid  to  the  prim  lady's 
satisfaction,  Mr.  Harding  took  Hank  out  for  a  little 
walk.  They  conversed  earnestly  together  for  some 
time,  then  separated  with  a  hearty  handshake. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

SOCIETY  IS  SCANDALIZED 

ACCORDING  to  that  harsh  way  Mother  Na- 
ture has  of  filling  the  minds  of  her  children 
during  the  night  with  the  unpleasant  things 
of  the  day,  Ralph  Harding's  sleep,  after  his  return 
from  Hank's,  was  vague,  confused,  troubled.  Once 
he  seemed  to  be  on  a  vast,  gray,  windy  plain,  ever 
pursuing  a  phantom  with  a  red  cloak,  and  urged 
along  by  a  wee  scrap  of  a  girl,  who  tugged  at  his 
hand  with  superhuman  strength,  and  dragged  him 
ever  faster  and  faster  till  his  feet  at  last  left  the 
earth.  He  awoke  panting,  and  with  a  heavy  weight 
at  his  heart  that  he  at  once  recognized  as  an  estab- 
lished acquaintance;  it  would  be  there  many  days, 
he  feared. 

Sleepless  hours  succeeded  his  sombre  dreams,  and 
again  and  again  the  whole  history  of  the  past  weeks 
surged  through  his  mind.  It  was  most  pitiful;  the 
pure  and  generous  Agatha  had  gone  away,  forced 
from  her  home  by  the  vile  conspiracy  of  a  woman 
who  was  still  honored  and  happy — if  such  a  woman 
could  be  happy.  He  knew  that  Mrs.  Worth-Court- 
leigh  was  the  principal  in  a  deep-laid  plot  to  destroy 
the  reputation  of  an  innocent  girl.  That  night  of 
violence  at  the  club  was  all  plain  now.  This  woman 

235 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


was  Hamilton's  companion  on  the  sleigh  ride  and 
at  "  Howard's,"  and  she  wore  Agatha's  red  cloak. 
That  she  was  able  to  get  possession  of  the  garment 
was  all  due  to  the  malice  and  uncharitableness  of 
church  people  in  a  house  of  God !  How  did  wheels 
work  within  wheels  for  the  crushing  of  a  blameless 
spirit. 

Poor  Worth-Courtleigh,  too!  With  knowledge 
of  the  wife's  baseness  in  one  respect  came  conviction 
of  her  infidelity  with  Hamilton.  Harding  felt  that 
such  an  honest-hearted  gentleman  ought  to  know 
the  truth,  and  yet  he  would  not  have  been  the  one 
to  tell  him. 

The  minister  arose  unrefreshed;  nor  did  the  keen 
loveliness  of  the  morning  work  any  change  in  his 
mental  burden.  The  walk  to  the  church,  during 
which  he  met  many  of  his  parishioners  whom  he 
knew  had  helped  circulate  the  scandal,  wrought 
his  feelings  to  a  high  pitch  of  nervous  excitement, 
so  that  when  he  reached  the  house  of  worship  he 
was  like  some  prophet  of  old  stirred  by  the  evil  of 
the  world  to  deliver  a  denunciation  from  God. 

The  Third  Congregational  Church  was  a  plain, 
square  structure  of  wood,  clapboarded  and  painted 
white,  and  having  green  blinds  at  its  small  windows. 
The  ground  floor  was  occupied  by  the  vestry,  where 
Harding  had  occasionally  given  little  dramatic  en- 
tertainments and  had  shocked  some  of  the  more  un- 
compromising of  his  flock.  The  main  auditorium 
above,  reached  from  the  street  by  a  U-shaped  pair 
of  stone  steps,  was  of  antique  simplicity.  The  pews 
were  boxed  in,  and  guarded  by  doors,  which  Hard- 

236 


SOCIETT  IS  SCANDALIZED 

ing  had  recently  determined  to  abolish,  if  possible, 
as  savoring  too  much  of  exclusiveness,  which  he  de- 
tested. Only  the  magnificent  old  high  pulpit  of 
mahogany  had  any  touch  of  beauty  or  grandeur. 

The  church  was  well  filled,  as  usual,  when  Mr. 
Harding  entered  the  pulpit.  The  eloquence  and 
originality  of  his  sermons  had  long  been  recognized 
in  Old  Chetford  and  beyond,  and  that  he  was  some- 
times considered  "  eccentric,"  always  drew  strangers 
to  the  Third  Congregational.  But  those  who  knew 
him  best  noticed  this  morning  that  there  was  an  un- 
familiar look  upon  his  face  and  a  peculiar  sound 
in  his  voice  as  he  read  the  hymns.  His  prayer  was 
brief,  mainly  expressing  the  earnest  hope  that  the 
Great  Pattern  of  charity  and  love  might  find  ex- 
emplars in  all  the  world. 

As  the  minister  rose  for  his  sermon  and  nervously 
opened  his  manuscript — which  was  merely  for  occa- 
sional reference,  as  he  always  preached  from  memory 
— his  eye  fell  upon  Guy  Hamilton  sitting  in  a  pew 
well  in  front  and  to  the  left.  The  man  was  debonair, 
well  groomed,  faultlessly  dressed,  the  perfect  picture 
of  a  member  of  high  society  in  proper  Sunday  at- 
titude. He  was  a  visitor  with  the  family  of  a 
wealthy  merchant,  and  he  sat  beside  the  handsome 
daughter  of  the  house,  complacent,  self-satisfied, 
and  seemingly  happy. 

A  flood  of  bitterness  swept  over  the  preacher's 
soul  as  he  saw  this  woman,  fashionably  dressed, 
radiant  and  honored,  sitting  beside  this  man,  and 
then  thought  of  the  sad-faced  girl  driven  across  the 
seas  by  the  undeserved  scorn  of  some  of  these  very 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


people  to  whom  he  was  about  to  deliver  a  sermon 
on  charity.  Charity!  What  charity  had  they  for 
her  in  the  hour  when  she  needed  it  most?  He  felt 
that  he  could  not  bring  his  lips  to  utter  the  conven- 
tional words  he  had  prepared  for  his  flock;  this 
Other  who  had  come  in  with  his  moral  leprosy  and 
his  fair  exterior  had  aroused  a  fire  of  emotion  that 
must  burst  forth  in  burning  words  not  penned  in 
the  quiet  of  the  study.  He  would  speak  what  was 
within  him,  let  the  consequences  be  what  they  might. 
He  would  go  back  to  the  old  dispensation,  smiting 
and  sparing  not. 

He  thrust  his  sermon  aside,  and  rapidly  turned 
the  leaves  of  his  Bible  for  a  moment.  He  stopped 
at  the  Book  of  Proverbs,  and  in  a  voice  kept  calm 
only  by  the  greatest  effort  he  read  with  deep  and 
deliberate  solemnity  these  words: — 

"  The  lip  of  truth  shall  be  established  forever: 
but  a  lying  tongue  is  for  a  moment." 

"  Deceit  is  in  the  heart  of  them  that  imagine  evil: 
but  to  the  counsellors  of  peace  is  joy." 

He  began  by  speaking  about  evil  reports,  how 
they  traveled  on  the  wings  of  the  morning,  and  how 
they  were  believed  more  readily  than  good  words. 
Let  one  be  accused  of  something  bad,  he  said,  and 
the  world  accepts  it  as  a  new  gospel ;  let  good  deeds 
be  reported  by  some  kindly  soul  and  people  are 
forever  poking  about  with  their  muck-poles  to  dis- 
cover an  improper  motive  behind  the  acts. 

Then,  with  ever  increasing  eloquence  and  fire,  he 
described  the  power  of  scandal  to  blight  and  ruin, 
even  if  it  dealt  wholly  in  untruths. 

238 


"  I  am  firmly  persuaded,"  he  declared,  "  that  in- 
stead of  believing  a  story  false  that  ought  not  to 
be  true,  society's  course  is  to  accept  as  true  every- 
thing evil,  even  if  false. 

"  We  have  our  laws  and  our  jails  for  the  cor- 
rupters  of  the  body  politic,  but  I  say  to  you  that 
the  worst  enemies  of  decency  are  the  pedlers  of  ma- 
licious tales.  And  none  but  those  who  love  to  hear 
scandal  like  to  tell  it.(  Many  a  man  has  been  hanged, 
many  a  woman  has  been  imprisoned  who  did  less 
mischief  than  the  coiners  of  forged  stories. 

"  The  object  of  scandalous  reports  is  generally 
helpless,  for  he  has  an  army  arrayed  against  him, 
an  army  of  gossip-mongers,  whose  ranks  are  ever 
swelling  and  whose  tents  always  encompass  him 
about. 

"  I  stand  upon  this :  that  gossips  are  murderers 
as  vile  as  the  slayers  of  human  beings,  for  they 
murder  reputations  with  no  other  object  than  to 
kill  time;  worse  than  thieves,  for  they  rob  people  of 
their  good  name,  a  possession  that  profits  the  thieves 
not  at  all." 

In  the  little  pause  that  followed  this  period  there 
was  an  uneasy  stirring  of  the  congregation,  and 
the  people  looked  at  one  another  in  blank  amaze- 
ment. What  had  this  strange  minister  of  theirs  in 
mind  that  he  should  forsake  the  beaten  path  of 
beauty  of  diction  and  polish  of  style  for  such  simple, 
direct  and  earnest  admonition?  Was  this  but  gen- 
eralization, or  was  it  the  prelude  to  some  tremen- 
dous personal  denunciation  that  should  shake  the 
church  from  foundation  to  spire?  But  whatever 

239 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


was  to  come,  the  magnetism  of  the  man  fixed  every 
eye  upon  the  pulpit. 

"  Oh,  men  and  women,"  continued  the  speaker, 
"  I  would  to  God  I  could  adequately  picture  to  you 
the  sufferings  of  the  victim  of  unjust  scandal.  Such 
a  victim  has  just  been  driven  from  amongst  us. 
Some  of  you  know  the  one  to  whom  I  refer;  the 
rest  are  probably  aware  of  the  facts,  for  when 
scandal-mongers  triumph  they  are  quick  to  proclaim 
their  victory.  Innocent  or  guilty,  the  result  is  gen- 
erally the  same,  if  the  target  of  malice  is  a  woman. 

"  Innocent  or  guilty,"  he  cried,  his  fine  voice 
trembling  with  emotion,  "  that  girl  is  to-day  an 
outcast ! " 

So  this  was  the  application !  The  "  victim  "  was 
all  but  named,  and  few  in  the  church  did  not  know 
the  story  of  Agatha  Renier.  Guy  Hamilton  sud- 
denly became  the  central  figure  in  the  sanctuary, 
and  he  flushed  deeply  as  he  felt  his  disagreeable 
prominence.  He  cursed  the  hour  when  he  had  al- 
lowed himself  to  be  put  in  the  power  of  this  fear- 
less minister  who  had  more  than  once  shown  ani- 
mosity toward  him;  he  even  hated  the  pretty  girl 
at  his  side  as  the  means  of  his  wretched  predicament. 

Among  the  others  there  was  a  tense  silence,  a 
dread  and  yet  an  eager  desire  to  know  where  the 
thunderbolt  of  the  preacher's  righteous  wrath  would 
next  descend.  They  were  not  long  in  doubt. 

"  That  girl  is  to-day  an  outcast,"  he  repeated  in 
ringing  tones ;  "  were  she  to  enter  this  church  this 
morning  for  the  consolation  of  the  spirit  of  God. 

240 


SOCIETT  IS  SCANDALIZED 

which  one  of  you  would  invite  her  to  your  pew? 
How  many  of  you  would  not  gather  your  garments 
about  you  in  fear  of  contamination  if  she  bufc 
touched  their  hem. 

"  But  the  man — what  of  him?  If  you  meet  him 
after  this  service,  as  many  of  you  doubtless  will, 
will  you  fail  to  smile  upon  him,  to  invite  him  to  your 
houses  ?  Will  you,  fathers,  warn  your  boys  against 
him?  Will  you,  mothers,  close  your  doors  to  him 
when  he  comes  to  visit  your  beloved  daughters  ? 

"  Yet  if  guilt  there  was,  why  does  he  go  free? 
And  the  woman — why  is  she  driven  from  among 
you  ?  If  there  was  no  guilt,  it  was  he,  not  she,  who 
assumed  its  hideous  mask.  And  yet  your  smile  for 
him  will  be  as  bright  as  your  chilling  glance  at  the 
victim  of  his  deceit  is  black.  You  will  say :  youth — 
male  youth — must  have  its  fling.  You  will  plead 
custom,  convention.  Shame  upon  such  custom! 
Horror  for  such  convention! 

"  I  tell  you,  my  people,"  he  thundered,  stretching 
his  right  arm  toward  heaven,  "  at  the  judgment  bar 
of  God  there  is  no  sex  in  sin!  " 

Though  there  was  more  of  the  sermon,  somewhat 
along  the  lines  originally  planned,  that  was  the 
climax,  poured  out  from  a  generous  heart  over- 
flowing with  the  passion  for  humanity,  and  touched, 
too,  by  a  man's  depth  of  tenderness  for  a  woman 
who  had  been  misjudged  and  wronged.  It  was  a 
union  of  love  and  conviction  and  a  great  sense  of 
duty  that  no  man  could  resist.  That  hour  was  to 
many  the  culmination  of  Harding's  career  in  Old 

241 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


Chetford,  the  time  when  his  eloquence  was  most 
thrilling,  the  moment  when  his  strength  bore  down 
upon  their  souls  with  most  profound  effect. 

But  there  were  many,  and  especially  of  the  more 
rich  and  powerful  set,  who  were  scandalized  beyond 
measure  at  what  they  termed  their  pastor's  unwar- 
ranted abuse  of  society,  his  pointed  insult  to  a  man 
of  position,  his  almost  indecent  reference  to  things 
their  daughters  ought  never  to  hear  mentioned.  As 
the  congregation  came  out  into  the  brilliant  sun- 
shine, few  stopping  to  shake  their  pastor  by  the 
hand  as  formerly,  the  comments  on  the  sermon 
spoke  clearly  enough  of  its  unpleasant  effect.  There 
were  threats  of  secession,  hints  at  parish  meetings 
and  suggestions  of  dire  discipline  for  the  minister 
who  had  dared  go  beyond  his  province  as  a  servant 
of  the  Lord.  The  few  who  believed  him  in  the  right 
were  overawed  by  the  carriages  and  fine  garments 
of  the  indignant  section,  and  quietly  went  their 
homeward  ways  on  foot. 

So,  too,  went  the  Rev.  Ralph  Harding  to  his 
study,  filled  with  a  grim  satisfaction  he  had  not 
known  for  many  days.  He  believed  that  he  had 
spoken — or,  rather  that  a  higher  power  had  spoken 
through  him — truths  that  would  one  day  bear  a 
rich  fruitage.  Of  the  immediate  consequences  of 
his  daring  he  concerned  himself  not  at  all  as  yet. 

He  sat  down  at  his  table  to  write  a  letter.  Three 
times  he  half-filled  a  sheet,  and  as  many  times  he 
tore  up  what  he  had  written,  and  threw  the 
of  paper  into  the  fire. 


242 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

MODERN   CHIVALRY 

HARDING  was  early  afield  next  morning 
looking-  after  the  details  of  a  new  plan  he 
had  devised  to  help  the  wage-earners  of 
the  city  to  habits  of  greater  frugality.  This  was  a 
penny  savings-bank  that  he  had  induced  one  of  the 
strong  financial  institutions  of  Old  Chetford  to 
establish  as  a  sort  of  branch  of  its  regular  business. 
On  his  way  down  town  he  met  "  Tom  "  Harrington, 
who  had  promised  to  assist  him. 

"  Morning,  Harding,"  said  that  sleek  and  well- 
fed  financier,  "  hope  you're  all  right  after yes- 
terday. Awful  row  all  over  town  on  account  of 
your  sermon.  You  meant  well,  I  know,  but  I  may 
as  well  tell  you  in  a  friendly  way  that  your  position 
on  such  matters  has  created  enmity  in  the  church, 
great  enmity.  I  sympathize  with  you  in  all  your 
efforts  to  do  good,  but " 

"  How  about  the  penny  bank  business,  Harring- 
ton ? "  asked  the  minister,  wholly  ignoring  the 
matter  of  the  sermon,  "  can  you  give  me  that  help 
you  promised  for  this  morning?  " 

"Eh?  The  bank?  Oh,  yes,  I  remember.  But 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  Harding,  I'm  not  quite  pre- 
pared to  go  ahead  with  the  matter  to-day.  I  shall 

243 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


want  a  little  time  to  look  into  it  further.  Come 
around  in  a  week."  And  the  pompous  banker  strode 
away  to  his  private  office,  the  picture  of  self -content 
and  prosperity. 

The  minister's  disgust  at  this  easily  understood 
cooling  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Harrington  was  quickly 
ended  by  the  sight  of  Robert  Worth-Courtleigh 
coming  down  the  street  to  his  business.  Here  was  a 
man  he  could  rely  on,  he  thought,  with  a  feeling  of 
thankfulness  that  the  world  was  not  wholly  filled 
with  shams. 

"  How  are  you,  Harding,"  said  the  lawyer 
heartily,  with  a  warm  grip  of  the  hand,"  you're  just 
the  fellow  I  wanted  to  see.  I've  got  the  deeds  by 
which  Mrs.  Copeland  gives  your  association  the 
land  and  building  of  the  Coffee  House  and  I  want 
you  to  have  them  now." 

He  fumbled  in  his  coat  pockets  with  a  perplexed 
air,  but  no  papers  were  forthcoming. 

"  By  George,"  said  he,  "  I've  left  them  in  my 
other  coat,  after  all.  But  I'll  go  right  back  and  get 
them  and  drop  into  your  study  with  them  on  my 
way  down." 

"  Don't  go  back  on  my  account,  Robert,"  re- 
turned Harding,  "  any  other  time  will  do.  I'll  admit 
that  I'm  like  a  child  that's  been  promised  a  new 
toy,  but  I  don't  want  to  put  you  to  any  trouble." 

"  No  trouble  at  all,  Harding ;  besides,  I've  left 
some  of  my  own  papers,  too,  and  I  must  have  them. 
I'll  see  you  later  perhaps." 

When  the  lawyer  reached  home  he  went  directly 
to  his  desk  in  the  library.  Lying  upon  the  broad, 

244 


MODERN  CHIVALRY 


clean  blotter  he  saw  one  of  his  wife's  pretty  squares 
of  note-paper  filled  with  her  large  and  bold  hand- 
writing. He  would  have  quietly  put  it  one  side 
unread,  but  that  the  word  "  Dearest,"  with  which 
the  epistle  began,  thrust  itself  upon  his  sight. 

"  Ah,  to  me,"  he  said  softly,  "  what  a  queer  child 
Lucy  is  to  be  sure."  Then  he  read  on. 

"  You  will  be  surprised,  I  know,  at  my  writing 

"  Well,  it  is  unusual  ;  wants  a  new  dress  or  a 
string  of  pearls,  I  suppose." 

"  But  I  feel  that  I  cannot  wait  till  I  see  you  before 


"  It  certainly  is  pearls." 

"I  may  be  doing  a  foolish  thing,  but  I  feel  I 
must  tell  you.  You  know  that  I  love  you.  I  have 
given  you  ample  proof  of  that,  but  -  " 

"  But  what  ?  "  thought  the  lawyer,  with  some  mis- 
giving, as  he  turned  the  sheet. 

"I  fear  that  you  have  never  really  returned  my 
feelings.  But  I  tell  you,  Guy  Hamilton,  I  will  not 
be  thrown  aside  like  a  discarded  glove.  I  -  " 

Here  the  letter  ended  abruptly,  and  the  ink  of  the 
final  word  was  scarcely  dry. 

The  first  effect  of  a  tremendous  shock  upon  an 
exceptionally  strong  man  is  often  that  of  dazed  as- 
tonishment and  a  refusal  to  credit  his  own  senses. 
So  it  was  with  Robert  Worth-Courtleigh.  He 
turned  the  letter  mechanically  and  dully  read  it 
again. 

As  the  full  force  of  its  terrible  meaning  gradually 
swept  in  upon  his  brain,  a  purple  flush  spread  over 

245 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


his  face  like  that  of  a  man  in  apoplexy;  then  suc- 
ceeded an  ashen  hue  and  a  weakness  that  made  him 
clutch  the  desk  for  support.  He  sank  into  his  chair 
and  bowed  his  head  on  his  arm,  grasping  the  letter 
in  one  hand  as  if  it  were  some  animate  thing  whose 
life  he  would  strangle  out. 

So  his  wife  found  him  when  she  hurried  back  to 
finish  the  note  from  which  she  had  been  called  by 
a  servant.  The  unexpected  sight  of  him  at  that  desk, 
the  thought  of  what  must  have  happened,  threw  her 
into  a  panic  of  apprehension. 

"  Oh — Robert,"  she  screamed,  "  how — you — 
startled  me.  Are  you — ill?  " 

There  was  no  answer  from  the  bowed  figure.  She 
would  have  thought  him  dead,  perhaps,  but  that  his 
right  hand  trembled  as  it  clutched  the  damning 
note.  At  the  sight  of  the  bit  of  blue  paper  she  knew 
that  the  hour  of  reckoning  had  struck.  She  turned 
to  go,  with  a  great  desire  to  postpone  the  evil  mo- 
ment, but  her  husband  heard  her,  and  slowly  raised 
his  head. 

For  one  brief  moment  the  drawn  and  haggard 
face  and  the  sudden  collapsing  of  his  figure  into  a 
counterfeit  of  old  age  aroused  within  her  a  sharp 
pang  of  remorse  and  regret,  such  as  a  woodsman 
might  feel  when  he  has  felled  a  great  and  noble 
tree.  It  was  as  transitory,  however,  for  there  fol- 
lowed a  rushing  flood  of  defiant  indignation  as  she 
realized  that  this  man  held  her  at  his  mercy.  His 
very  silence  increased  her  bitterness.  They  looked 
at  one  another  like  strangers,  until  her  passion  could 
no  longer  be  withheld. 

246 


MODERN  CHIVALRY 


"  Well,"  she  cried,  "  you  have  read — have  dared 
to  read  my  private  correspondence." 

"  Would  to  God  I  had  not,  Lucy,"  he  answered 
slowly,  "  Heaven  help  me,  I  thought— I  thought  it 
was  for  me." 

"  A  likely  story,"  she  sneered.  "  Well — what  do 
you  propose  to  do  ?  " 

"To  do?" 

"Yes;  with — me?  With — him?  With — every- 
thing?" 

At  this  the  man  within  him  asserted  itself,  the 
lawyer  training  proved  its  strength,  and  Worth- 
Courtleigh  faced  his  wife  with  dignity  and  courage. 

"  There  is  but  one  thing  to  do,  Lucy,"  he  said. 
"  You  may — you  must  stay  in  this  house.  There 
is  no  other  protection  for  you.  But  remember  you 
stay  not  as  my  wife,  but  as  my  guest  whose  resi- 
dence with  me  the  law  permits.  As  such  your  wants 
will  all  be  provided  for,  and  you  will  be  allowed  a 
sufficient  income  for  the  continued  entertainment 
of  your  friends.  You  will,  of  course,  never  see  him 
again  or  have  the  slightest  communication  with  him. 
Should  he  ever  come  to  my  house,  I  warn  you  that 
I  would  treat  him  as  I  would  a  mad  dog." 

The  magnanimity  of  the  man  she  had  so  foully 
wronged,  his  calmness,  his  generosity,  his  considera- 
tion for  her,  instead  of  softening  her  heart  to  peni- 
tence, or  at  least  to  respect,  roused  all  the  evil  quali- 
ties within  her.  Had  he  raved  in  melodramatic 
fashion,  had  he  cursed  and  threatened  her  instead  of 
ending  the  interview  with  the  sorrowful  admission 
that  the  wrecking  of  their  home  might  have  been 

247 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


partly  his  fault  because  he  had  left  her  so  much 
alone,  she  would  have  felt  less  bitterness  toward  him. 

All  day  long  she  felt  the  sting  of  his  goodness 
rankling  within  her  heart.  She  denied  herself  to 
callers,  and  paced  from  room  to  room  in  the  vain 
attempt  to  shake  off  the  burden  of  her  thoughts. 
Was  she  to  remain  in  his  debt  perpetually,  to  be 
always  humiliated  by  the  idea  that  she  was  a  toler- 
ated inmate  of  the  house,  a  prisoner  on  parole  ?  No, 
a  thousand  times.  There  was,  there  must  be  some 
other  way — there  was  one  way. 

She  was  relieved  that  her  husband  did  not  come 
home  to  dinner.  She  had  determined  to  plead  ill- 
ness, had  he  done  so,  for  sjie  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  facing  him  agam  so  soon.  She  forced 
herself  to  eat  a  hearty  meal,  for  she  felt  that  she 
might  need  the  sustaining  power  of  food. 

After  dinner  she  gathered  together  her  jewels 
and  a  few  articles  of  clothing,  and  put  them  into 
a  travelling  bag.  Then  she  threw  on  her  fine  furs 
— all  she  could  reasonably  wear — and  left  the  house. 
A  few  moments  later  she  amazed  Guy  Hamilton 
by  appearing  at  his  apartments  near  the  Attawam 
Club. 

"  What  on  earth,  Lucy "  he  began. 

"  We  are  found  out,  Guy ;  Robert  knows  all !  " 
she  cried  excitedly,  and  in  a  few  broken  sentences 
she  told  him  of  the  discovery  of  the  letter  and  the 
life  to  which  her  husband  had  condemned  her.  The 
man  paled  with  fear,  for  he  could  scarcely  believe 
that  the  iron-hearted  lawyer  would  fail  to  wreak 
vengeance  upon  himself. 

248 


"  Good  God,  Lucy,"  he  muttered,  "  what's  to  be 
done?" 

"  Done,  done — don't  you  know  what's  to  be  done? 
Do  you  think  I  can  go  back  to  that  house  like  a 
slave  ?  Do  you  imagine  I  shall  promise  never  to  see 
you  again?  Oh,  Guy,  can  you  not  see  that  my  love 
for  you  has  brought  me  to  this,  that  all  I  have  to 
hope  for  now  is  in  you,  that  I  am  here  to  throw 
myself  on  your  mercy  ?  " 

She  broke  down,  and  wept  piteously,  and  he,  by 
that  peculiar  species  of  social  chivalry  that  could 
rob  a  man  of  his  wife  without  a  qualm  and  yet  feel 
impelled  to  protect  the  woman  when  the  crash  came, 
offered  to  do  that  of  which  in  his  sober  senses  he 
never  would  have  dreamed. 

"  Let  us  leave  this  miserable  town,  Lucy,"  he  said 
gently,  "  and  never  step  foot  in  it  again.  We  will 
go  far  away,  and  begin  things  anew.  Now — to- 
night— we  will  start,  and  to-morrow  they  may  do 
their  worst.  Will  that  satisfy  you,  my  dear  ?  " 

Joy  and  triumph  and  the  delight  of  undisputed 
possession  shone  in  her  eyes.  She  seized  his  hand 
and  kissed  it  passionately,  and  he  smoothed  her  hair 
caressingly  and  felt  that  he  had  never  loved  her 
so  much  as  at  that  moment.  It  was  a  fine  thing  to  be 
trusted,  to  be  relied  upon  so  implicitly,  and  he  vowed 
that  he  would  give  her  no  cause  to  repent  of  her 
faith  in  him. 

That  night  the  pair  left  Old  Chetford  on  the  mid- 
night train.  Their  flight  was  a  rich  field  of  discus- 
sion for  the  gossips,  who  imputed  to  the  lady  faults 
of  which  even  she  had  never  been  gulity.  But  the 

249 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


dignified  attitude  of  Worth-Courtleigh  and  his  abso- 
lute refusal  to  say  a  word  about  the  matter  to  any- 
one did  much  to  silence  the  scandal,  which  finally 
died  a  natural  death  and  was  resurrected  less  and 
less  often  as  time  passed  on.  Even  at  the  club  the 
topic  at  last  became  stale,  and  Claybourne  ceased 
to  mourn  the  loss  of  his  friend,  who,  he  declared 
sententiously,  had  fallen  a  victim  to  "  too  much 
woman." 


On  the  evening  of  the  elopement  Ralph  Harding 
wrote  a  letter  of  resignation  to  the  Third  Congre- 
gational Church.  In  it  he  told  his  people  that  he 
had  seen  the  great  discontent  aroused  by  his  ser- 
mon of  the  day  before  and  that  he  felt  that  his  use- 
fulness as  a  pastor  was  over.  He  regretted  the 
severing  of  pleasant  ties,  but  was  fully  persuaded  it 
was  for  the  best.  He  was  determined,  he  said,  to  do 
the  work  of  the  Master  unfettered  by  church  gov- 
ernment and  church  prejudices.  He  would  deal  di- 
rectly with  the  people,  and  answer  to  himself  and 
his  God  for  the  saving  of  their  souls.  For  this 
labor  he  desired  a  larger  field,  and  he  was  about 
to  go  to  some  great  city  there  to  undertake  his 
mission.  He  bade  his  loyal  friends  a  tender  fare- 
well ;  as  for  the  others,  those  whom  he  had  offended, 
he  hoped  that  they  would  think  of  him  at  his  best. 


250 


ttbe  Bwafeening  of  a  Soul 

CHAPTER  XXVII 

AFTER  FIVE  YEARS 

ON  a  certain  moist  afternoon  in  April,  when 
New  York  lay  steaming  under  a  hot  sun, 
like  some  formless  giant  fresh  from  his 
ablutions,  two  men  descended  the  steps  of  a  large 
brown-stone  house  on  Fifth  Avenue.  The  house 
was  not  of  the  conventional  flat  and  characterless 
sort,  but  was  fashioned  somewhat  in  the  romanesque 
style,  with  a  low,  heavy  arch  over  the  entrance  and 
various  odd  designs  around  windows  and  eaves. 

The  men,  though  friends,  were  an  oddly  assorted 
pair,  "  cross-matched,"  as  the  more  ponderous  one 
had  expressed  it.  This  gentleman  was  Horatio 
Atherton,  well  known  and  heartily  feared  in  Wall 
Street.  Behind  the  fat  and  ruddy  freshness  of  his 
face  he  concealed  the  keenness  of  a  vulture  in  finan- 
cial scent;  his  curved  nose  and  little  black  eyes 
spoke  of  rapacity  and  cruelty  in  certain  contingen- 
cies, but  his  speech  never  wavered  from  its  mellow 
suavity.  He  was  dressed  with  great  care,  and  in 
the  lapel  of  his  correct  frock  coat  he  wore  his 
favorite  flower,  a  pink  orchid.  He  was  a  mining 
expert  of  high  rank,  and  his  specialty  just  now  was 
the  promoting  of  new  ventures  in  Colorado. 

The  dress  and  manner  of  the  other  proclaimed 

251 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


him  an  artist.  He  was  tall,  slender  and  dark,  and 
his  waving  hair  was  covered  by  a  large  black  felt 
hat.  His  features  were  beautifully  regular,  and  the 
perfect  oval  of  his  face  was  well  set  off  by  a  tiny 
pointed  beard.  An  impressionist  of  the  impression- 
ists, Philip  Dalzell  was  always  striving  for  a  new 
expression  in  landscape  painting,  yearning,  as  his 
confreres  said,  to  depict  the  "  light  that  never  was 
on  sea  or  land."  He  was  making  his  way  rapidly, 
for  in  all  his  weirdness  of  coloring  and  sentiment 
there  was  more  than  a  trace  of  genius. 

"  Well,  Atherton,"  said  the  artist,  as  the  twain 
proceeded  down  the  Avenue,  "  What  do  you  think 
of  the  new  sensation  ?  " 

"  She's  divine  my  boy,  divine." 

"  So  you,  who  went  to  scoff,  remained  to  wor- 
ship? I  thought  it  would  be  so." 

"  She  certainly  is  the  most  fascinating  woman  I 
ever  met,"  avowed  the  financier  earnestly. 

"  Take  care ;  what  if  the  imperial  Miss  Van  Horn 
should  hear  that  speech?  " 

"  She  would  agree  with  me." 

"  But  like  the  speech  no  better  for  all  that,  I 
fancy." 

Atherton  stopped  a  moment  to  light  an  enormous 
and  very  black  cigar. 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  he  asked  between  puffs. 

"  Don't  you  read  the  newspapers  ?  Besides,  I've 
told  you;  the  Countess  Fornay's  light  is  not  under 
a  bushel." 

"  Yes,  but " 

252 


AFTER  FIFE  TEARS 


"  All  I  know — all  that  anybody  seems  to  know- 
is  that  she's  the  granddaughter  of  Adolph  Renier, 
Count  Fornay,  who  died  over  a  year  ago  in  Paris. 
His  son  married  beneath  him,  it  is  said,  in  America, 
and  his  daughter  was  recognized  only  when  the  old 
Count  was  so  near  the  end  of  a  tumultuous  life  that 
he  thought  a  good  deed  or  two  quite  essential  to  a 
peaceful  hereafter.  One  thing  is  certain;  she  was 
the  rage  of  Washington  last  winter,  and  the  French 
embassy  officials  clicked  their  heels  together  every 
time  her  name  was  mentioned.  There  is  no  doubt 
of  her  social  standing — something  one  can  seldom 
say  in  these  days  of  mushroom  favorites — Ah,  how 
are  you  ?  " 

The  artist  nodded  cordially  to  a  well-favored  man 
who  swung  past  them  with  firm  and  athletic  tread. 

"Who's  your  good-looking  friend?"  asked 
Atherton. 

"  He's  a  clerical  chap,  Harding  by  name.  You'd 
never  think  it  by  his  coat,  would  you  ?  I  met  him  at 
the  Realists'  Club." 

"Whew!    The  Realists'?" 

"Queer  place  for  a  parson,  eh?  Well,  he  is 
not  an  ordinary  parson.  He  has  cut  loose  from 
churches,  I  believe,  so  why  not  the  Realists'  as  well 
as  another?  He  practices  his  profession  in  man 
to  man  fashion;  says  pulpits  are  screens  between 
God  and  the  people." 

"  What  a  bore  he  must  be." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,  my  boy.  He's  a  practical  enemy 
of  the  devil,  and  speaking  of  that  gentleman,  he 

253 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


gave  '  Satan  '  Montgomery  a  tremendous  drubbing 
at  balk-line  billiards  last  night  at  the  club." 

"  Ah,  a  worldly  parson." 

"  That  depends  on  your  definition  of  the  adjective, 
Atherton.  But  lie  does  a  lot  of  good  in  his  own 
way,  I'm  told.  His  theory  is  that  cleanliness  is  not 
only  next  to  Godliness,  but  comes  first." 

Meantime  the  subject  of  these  pointed  remarks 
continued  up  the  Avenue  with  mingled  emotions,  as 
he  found  himself  nearing  the  brown-stone  house. 
Only  the  day  before  he  had  received  through  Worth- 
Courtleigh  this  almost  brusque  message: — 

"  You  say  that  Mr.  Harding  is  in  New '  York  a 
portion  of  each  month.  I  shall  be  there  in  April, 
and  shall  be  glad  to  have  him  call." 

As  he  thought  of  Agatha  he  wondered,  first  what 
had  happened  to  her  outward  seeming,  and  then 
how  her  mind  had  progressed  and  altered  under  the 
potent  spell  of  Paris.  Conjecture  was  a  necessity 
to  him,  for  after  the  almost  tragic  events  culminating 
in  her  removal  from  Old  Chetford  he  had  felt  unable 
to  frame  a  letter  that  would  suit  himself  or  the  occa- 
sion. The  spectre  of  Guy  Hamilton  seemed  always 
at  his  elbow,  chilling  his  soul  with  its  sneering  as- 
sumption of  the  possession  of  Agatha's  heart.  He 
could  not  give  her  comfort;  he  dared  not  give  her 
what  he  felt.  He  had  at  first  hoped  that  Agatha 
would  take  the  initiative  in  the  matter  of  letters, 
but  she  had  not  done  so,  and  the  little  that  he  had 
heard  from  her  had  been  simple  and  kindly  messages 
through  the  mediumship  of  Mrs.  Cope] and. 

Now  and  then  he  had  gleaned  bits  of  information 

254 


AFTER  FIFE  TEARS 


from  Worth-Courtleigh,  who  was  more  or  less  in 
touch  with  Mrs.  Copeland,  and  had  learned  that  the 
two  had  traveled  to  some  extent,  but  had  lived 
quietly  in  Paris  for  the  most  part,  Agatha  studying 
art,  music  and  literature  with  much  thoroughness. 

One  day  the  news  of  the  death  of  Mrs.  Copeland 
had  come  to  the  lawyer's  office,  and  thence  to  Hard- 
ing in  New  York.  Then  he  would  have  written  to 
Agatha,  but  was  uncertain  as  to  her  whereabouts. 
In  a  week  he  received  a  brief  note  from  the  girl, 
saying  that  after  some  months  of  travel  she  ex- 
pected to  return  to  America.  He  had  arisen  each 
morning  after  that  with  the  hope  that  this  day  he 
would  hear  from  her,  but  nothing  further  came. 
And  now  she  was  here — he  was  to  see  her  within 
a  few  moments,  was  to  find  what  time  had  done  for 
good  or  ill  with  a  girl  who  had  had  such  vast  possi- 
bilities for  either. 

On  his  arrival  at  the  big  house  he  was  shown  to 
a  small  reception  room  of  pink  and  gold  by  a  for- 
eign-looking flunky  in  green  livery,  who  looked  at 
him  curiously  when  he  asked  for  "  Miss  Renier." 
Across  the  wide  hall  in  the  drawing  room  servants 
were  putting  things  in  order  after  what  had  ap- 
parently been  a  reception  of  some  sort.  Evidences 
of  wealth  were  not  lacking,  but  he  wondered  if 
Agatha's  status  in  the  family  were  not  less  desirable 
than  in  the  old  days  at  Mrs.  Copeland's.  She  was 
secretary  or  companion,  he  presumed,  perhaps  gov- 
erness. He  knew  that  the  girl  could  not  be  the 
mistress  of  much  money,  for  it  was  a  matter  of 
common  information  that  the  crash  in  the  Attawam 

255 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


mills  and  the  Oceanic  National  Bank  at  Old  Chet- 
ford,  following  the  defalcation  and  suicide  of 
"  Tom "  Harrington,  had  engulfed  most  of  Mrs. 
Copeland's  property,  especially  as  she  had  decided, 
at  Agatha's  solicitation — so  Worth-Courtleigh  had 
told  him — to  stand  behind  the  bank,  in  which  she 
was  a  large  stockholder,  and  pay  every  dollar  of  its 
indebtedness., 

The  flunkey  returned  with  the  announcement: 

"  Mad'moiselle,  ze  Countess,  vill  be  down  pres- 
ently." 

He  felt  a  little  irritation  that  his  card  should  have 
gone  astray — should  have  been  taken  to  the  mistress 
of  this  fine  establishment  instead  of  to  the — well, 
servant,  although  even  his  democratic  spirit  recoiled 
at  the  word,  when  all  else  was  obliterated  by  the 
sight  of  Agatha  Renier  standing  in  the  doorway,  and 
the  sound  of  her  cordial  voice. 

"  I  am  so  glad,  so  glad,"  she  said  simply. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  Ralph  Harding  could 
not  find  words  for  expression.  Not  one  of  his  vi- 
sions of  the  girl  had  pictured  her  like  this.  Here  was 
a  tall,  lithe,  graceful  woman  instead  of  the  plump 
and  vivacious  girl;  a  cultured,  self-poised,  high- 
bred creature  who  seemed  born  to  the  purple.  He 
would  have  known  her  anywhere  and  yet  there  was 
that  in  her  beautiful  face  that  was  new  and  strange 
— a  firmness  of  the  mouth,  a  depth  in  the  eyes,  a 
latent  something  more  than  physical  that  far  re- 
moved her  from  the  pupil  over  whose  education  he 
labored  with  such  heartfelt  zeal.  He  gazed  at  her 

256 


AFTER  FIVE  TEARS 


long  and  earnestly  without  speaking.  He  was  re- 
lieved when  she  rang  for  the  servant. 

"  I  am  at  home  to  no  one,  Pierre,"  she  ordered. 

She  faced  him  again,  with  a  trace  of  her  old  pretty 
impetuosity. 

"  Well,  are  you  not  glad  to  see  me?  " 

"Glad?  Surely  I  am." 

"  Ah !  It  was  once  the  American  usage  to  ex- 
press such  sentiments.  Perhaps  it  is  changed — you 
have  changed,"  she  added  suddenly,  and  was  about 
to  say  "  grown  older." 

"  You  have  a  careworn  look.  I  fear  you  are 
working  too  hard.  But  you  are  standing,"  she  said 
kindly,  offering  him  a  chair  and  sitting  down  herself. 

Harding  obeyed  mechanically;  he  was  still  em- 
barrassed, still  under  the  spell  of  the  new  Agatha. 
What  a  curious  reversal  of  their  positions!  In  the 
old  days  he  was  the  mentor,  the  quasi  guardian  of 
her  mind  and  emotions,  the  one  looked  up  to;  now 
she  was  the  ruler  of  the  situation.  At  last  he  real- 
ized with  vexation  that  his  gaze  was  still  upon  her. 

"Well,  do  I  stand  the  scrutiny?"  she  asked 
laughingly. 

"  I — I  am  afraid  I  have  been  very  rude." 

"  Look  at  me  as  long  as  you  wish ;  that,  at  least, 
shows  some  interest.  Am  I  greatly  changed  ?  " 

"  It  is  more  than  five  years,  Agatha — I  mean 
Miss " 

"Why  'Miss?'  It  is  Agatha  still,  or,  if  you 
must  be  formal,  be  correct.  You  heard  Pierre,  I 
know." 

257 


"  Countess?    I  didn't  understand." 

She  absently  turned  over  and  over  his  card  which 
she  had  brought  down  from  her  boudoir. 

"  I  saw  that,"  she  said.  "  You  have  not  heard  of 
the  Countess  Fornay,  then  ?  " 

The  light  of  the  truth  began  to  dawn. 

"  Countess  Fornay  ?    You — you  are " 

" Je  la  suis,  Monsieur,  a  votre  service"  she  re- 
plied merrily. 

"But " 

"  It's  very  simple.  You  recall  the  marriage  rec- 
ords we  found  at  Mill  River  ?  " 

He  nodded. 

" '  Alice  Stewart  to  Frangois  Renier,  son  of 
Adolphe  Renier,  Count  Fornay,'  it  read.  The  son 
died  years  ago;  the  father,  my  grandfather,  died 
three  months  before  dear  Mrs.  Copeland  left  me 
alone  in  the  world." 

Her  voice  choked  with  emotion,  a  manifestation 
that  somehow  cheered  Harding's  heart,  deeply  as  he, 
too,  felt  the  loss  of  his  staunch  old  friend  now  so 
keenly  brought  home  to  Lim. 

"  I  believe,"  she  went  on  earnestly,  "  that  her 
death  was  hastened  if  not  caused,  by  the  trouble 
at  the  mills  and  the  bank  in  Old  Chetford.  The  first 
news  of  the  crash  prostrated  her,  and  with  each  suc- 
ceeding tidings  of  disaster  she  grew  weaker,  till 
her  life  faded  out  like  the  dying  of  a  sunset.  It 
grieved  her  deeply,  too,  that  her  fortune  should  be 
diverted  from  me." 

"  Ah,  but  that  was  your  own  doing,  Agatha, 
your  voluntary  sacrifice;  I  have  the  facts,  you  see." 

258 


AFTER  FIVE  TEARS 


"  Don't  call  it  a  sacrifice,  Mr.  Harding ;  I'm  not 
the  woman  who  makes  them.  It  was  only  that  I 
couldn't  and  wouldn't  allow  innocent  victims  of  a 
man's  rascality  to  suffer,  if  I  could  help  it — and  I 
did  help  it.  But  the  worst  blow  of  all  was  when  five 
thousand  dollars  of  the  little  money  remaining  to 
Mrs.  Copeland  was  swept  away  by  Guy  Hamilton." 

"  Ah ! "  exclaimed  Harding,  almost  jumping  to 
his  feet  at  the  sound  of  this  name,  which  came  with- 
out a  tremor  from  Agatha's  lips.  He  feared  that 
the  flood  of  bitter  memories  it  recalled  might  upset 
her,  might  create  a  scene  in  which  he  would  be  but 
a  helpless  comforter. 

But  she  looked  him  bravely  in  the  face  from  her 
luminous  brown  eyes,  paying  no  heed  to  his  .interrup- 
tion. She  spoke  in  a  hard  and  emotionless  voice. 

"  Guy  Hamilton  forged  his  aunt's  name,  and  she, 
for  her  dead  sister's  sake,  kept  silent,  and  let  the 
check  be  considered  genuine.  He  pleaded  that  he 
was  on  the  verge  of  a  great  coup  in  the  stock  market, 
that  he  had  only  needed  the  money  for  an  hour 
to  achieve  success,  when  the  sudden  death  of  a 
great  financier  smashed  the  market  and  ruined  him. 
He  groveled  needlessly,  for  his  aunt  would  never 
have  prosecuted  him." 

"  It  was  the  act  of  an  ingrate  and  a  scoundrel," 
exclaimed  the  minister  indignantly.  "  And  they 
say  he  is  now  successful,  a  lucky  operator  in  the 
'  Street/  but  looked  upon  as,  reckless,  dangerous, 
unscrupulous.  I  hear  he  is  engaged  in  shady  tran- 
sactions and  companies." 

"  And — that  woman  ?  "  asked  Agatha,  with  just 

259 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


a  deepening  of  her  color  and  a  tightening  of  her 
clasped  fingers  "  the  woman  he  took  from  her  hus- 
band." 

"  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh  ?  She  tired  of  him  as 
she  had  tired  of  Worth-Courtleigh,  and  ran  away 
with  another  man.  Hamilton  was  grateful  enough 
to  both  of  them,  I  dare  say.  I  have  heard  nothing 
of  her  for  several  years." 

"  And  now,"  said  the  youthful  countess,  with 
swiftly  changing  mood,  "  tell  me  all  about  yourself, 
what  you  have  been  doing  in  New  York,  what  you 
hope  to  do,  and  how  the  dear  old  people  in  Old 
Chetford — my  people,  you  know — are  getting  along. 
No,  no ;  no  excuses,  /  am  mistress  here." 

He  would  have  ventured  a  little  later  to  ask 
Agatha  what  her  plans  for  the  future  were,  wonder- 
ing what  she  intended  to  do  with  this  splendid  and 
expensive  house,  but  that  the  chiming  of  a  tiny  gold 
clock  on  the  mantel  caused  her  to  rise. 

"  I  hope  I  do  not  appear  inhospitable,  Mr.  Hard- 
ing," she  said  with  a  touch  of  pretty  confusion, 
"  but  the  fact  is  that  I  dine  at  the  French  consul's 
to-night,  and — well,  we  women  have  to  dress,  you 
know.  I  want  you  to  promise  to  come  and  see  me 
to-morrow  and  spend  the  afternoon.  There  are 
many  things  for  us  to  talk  about.  Will  you  ?  " 

He  promised  with  a  new  feeling  of  pleasure  at 
his  heart,  and  she  saw  him  to  the  door  herself. 
There  they  parted  with  a  warm  and  friendly  clasp 
of  hands  that  the  minister  seemed  to  carry  with  him 
as  he  went  his  way  to  the  faraway  lower  parts  of 
the  great  city. 

260 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  PENALTY  OF  FAME 

RALPH  HARDING  awoke  early  next  morn- 
ing with  an  undefined  satisfaction  lying 
pleasantly  upon  his  half-dreamy  conscious- 
ness. It  slowly  took  words :  "  Agatha  is  here ;  I 
saw  her  yesterday,  and  shall  see  her  again  to-day." 

For  the  moment  all  vexing  questions  as  to  her 
status  in  the  world,  her  coming  life  and  her  choice  of 
associates  faded  before  the  light  of  the  happy  fact. 

After  breakfast  and  a  little  correspondence  were 
out  of  the  way  he  set  forth  for  the  Realists'  Club 
where  he  often  went  of  a  morning  to  see  if  he  might 
obtain  some  sort  of  suggestions  for  the  work  of  the 
day.  He  had  joined  the  organization  purely  on  its 
reputation  for  embracing  within  its  membership  the 
most  heterogeneous  set  of  men  who  ever  touched 
elbows  under  one  roof.  He  expected  fresh  thoughts, 
ideas  for  fresh  fields  of  labor  to  spring  from  his  asso- 
ciation with  the  radicals  he  knew  were  of  the  Real- 
ists' band. 

In  truth  there  were  all  sorts  of  men  in  the  club — 
decadent  poets,  dramatists  of  half  a  dozen  "  new  " 
schools,  impossible  political  reformers,  ultra  social- 
ists who  talked  loudly  of  what  ought  to  be,  but  never 
attempted  to  better  what  was,  "  symbolists  "  in  art 

261 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


and  a  sprinkling  of  cynical  newspaper  men  and  ma- 
terialistic brokers. 

But,  by  a  quite  natural  paradox,  most  of  the  Real- 
ists turned  out  to  be  idealists  of  the  pronounced  sort, 
each  group  worshipping  its  own  special  cult  with 
such  absolute  devotion  that  any  practical  work  in 
combination  was  quite  out  of  the  question.  So 
Harding  found  that,  like  other  clubs,  it  served  as  a 
means  to  an  end:  that  men  without  homes  might 
secure  imitations,  and  that  men  with  homes  might 
escape  from  them  on  occasion.  Still  he  kept  up  his 
membership  and  extracted  stray  wheat  grains  from 
the  general  chaff. 

The  minister's  life  in  New  York  for  the  past  five 
years  had  been  one  of  honest  and  earnest  endeavor 
to  better  humanity  as  he  found  it.  It  was  not  always 
the  very  poor  he  aided;  he  recognized  the  Master's 
"  them  ye  have  with  you  always,"  and  knew  that 
single-handed  he  could  scarcely  hope  to  reduce  the 
number  very  materially.  But  he  did  more  than 
supply  a  dinner  or  buy  a  new  coat;  he  hunted  up 
unfortunates  with  aspirations  for  higher  things,  and 
these  aspirations  he  helped  to  expand  in  manifold 
ways.  He  cultivated  the  acquaintance  of  business 
men,  and  made  himself  a  sort  of  employment  agency 
with  free  service;  he  obtained  scholarships  in  vari- 
ous institutions  for  those  he  knew  would  appreciate 
them;  he  rescued  sailors  from  the  clutches  of  land- 
sharks  ;  lie  taught  the  law  to  many  a  rascally  pawn- 
broker; in  short,  he  did  the  strange,  out-of-the-or- 
dinary  things  he  found  nobody  else  doing,  and  he 

262 


THE  PENALTY  OF  FAME 

believed  that  he  was  filling  his  niche  in  the  world  as 
effectually  as  when  he  was  in  the  pulpit. 

Yet  he  had  not  been  altogether  content  in  the 
huge  Babylon  of  a  city.  Its  immensity  precluded 
any  real  affection  for  it ;  who  could  love  such  a  heart- 
less giant  that  rushed  unceasingly  about  its  business 
with  no  care  for  suffering  or  for  sin  ? 

His  regular  trips  to  Old  Chetford  had  been  the 
bright  parts  of  his  existence;  although  he  may  not 
have  recognized  it,  his  visits  to  the  first  children  of 
his  sympathy,  the  Coffee  House  and  the  hospital, 
had  really  been  more  necessary  to  his  own  well- 
being  than  to  those  now  flourishing  institutions. 

The  quarters  of  the  Realists'  Club,  to  which  Hard- 
ing made  his  way  with  his  customary  swinging  gait, 
were  as  odd  as  its  members.  They  completely  filled 
the  top  story  of  a  tall  office  building  on  Madison 
Avenue  and.  the  view  from  the  many  windows  was 
'superb.  Being  on  one  floor  the  effect  was  like  that 
of  an  immense  suite  of  rooms  whose  owner  had  gone 
mad  on  the  subject  of  varied  decorations.  The  art- 
ists had  a  room  specially  devoted  to  their  fraternity, 
the  musicians  another,  while  the  authors,  saints  and 
sinners  alike,  rejoiced  in  a  great  apartment  that 
contained  a  dozen  private  desks.  It  was  a  sight  for 
the  gods  when  these  literary  shrines  were  all  occu- 
pied by  wooers  of  the  Muses  who  performed  their 
devotions  by  no  means  in  silence. 

The  comfortable  and  well-stocked  reading  room 
was  the  favorite  resort  of  the  club  gossips,  but  this 
morning  it  was  deserted  when  Harding  reached  the 

263 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


club.  He  took  up  a  morning  paper  and  turned  to 
the  "  Situations  Wanted  "  column,  as  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  do  each  day  that  he  might  perchance  find 
there  the  cry  of  some  poor  fellow  whom  he  could 
help.  Before  long  Dalzell,  the  artist,  strolled  in. 

"  Good  morning,  Harding,"  he  said  pleasantly, 
"  saw  you  going  to  the  Countess  Fornay's  yesterday 
afternoon,  didn't  I  ?  Do  you  know  her  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Lucky  fellow.  She  has  the  holy  trinity  of 
beauty,  style  and  brains  and  the  greatest  of  these 
is — well,  first  you  think  it  is  one,  then  you  are  con- 
vinced it's  another,  and  at  last  you  swear  it's  the 
third.  Of  course  you've  read  her  book." 

"  No,"  replied  the  minister  greatly  surprised,  "  I 
didn't  know —  " 

"  Wait  a  minute.  Here's  a  copy  right  on  the 
table.  Behold,"  and  he  thrust  it  with  a  triumph- 
ant air  into  Harding's  hands.  The  latter  turned  to 
the  title-page  and  read : 

"  Men  and  Women :  Their  Manners  and  Their 
Meannesses.  Twelve  Essays  by  Miss  Petticoats." 

The  well  remembered  name  was  like  a  blow  in  the 
face  to  Harding.  With  all  its  sacred  associations 
to  be  flaunted  here  under  the  title  of  a  sensational 
book!  How  could  Agatha  have  done  such  a  thing? 
He  read  on : 

"  Translated  from  the  French  Edition  as  Re- 
printed from  Le  Revue  de  Deux  Mondes,  by  the 
Author." 

"  Clever  pseudonym,  eh  ?  "  said  the  enthusiastic 
artist.  "  Clever  book,  too,  and  bitter  as  wormwood. 

264 


THE  PENALTY  OF  FAME 

Handles  society  shams  without  gloves.  Everybody 
is  talking  about  it,  and  wondering  where  she  got  her 
insight.  By  Jove,  she's  the  greatest  woman  New 
York  has  seen  for  years." 

"  Who  is  now  receiving  the  endorsement  of  your 
impressionistic  ardor,  Dalzell?  "  said  a  coldly  suave 
voice  behind  Harding. 

"  Hallo,  Atherton,  that  you  ?  What  brings  you 
here  so  early  in  the  morning  ?  " 

"  Business." 

"  Little  need  of  asking." 

"  I  answered  your  question,  but  you — " 

"  Was  there  need  to  answer  yours  ?  Of  whom 
could  I  be  talking  except  the  Countess  Fornay? 
Pardon  me,  Mr.  Harding;  I  think  you  don't  know 
my  friend  Atherton." 

"  Delighted,  I'm  sure,"  murmured  the  financier, 
while  Harding,  as  he  shook  the  outstretched  hand 
perfunctorily,  felt  an  instinctive  dislike  for  the 
craftily  sensual  face  that  but  half-concealed  a  sneer 
in  every  smile.  He  wondered  what  this  man  and 
the  frank  and  honorable  Dalzell  could  have  in  com- 
mon. And  that  he  should  know  Agatha — that  was 
a  profanation  that  made  his  blood  grow  hot.  Nor 
was  it  cooled  by  the  calm  tones  of  the  newcomer  as 
he  went  on : — 

'  The  Countess  is  certainly  worthy  of  your  paeans, 
Philip.  She  is  ravishing." 

From  the  lips  of  the  banker  the  compliment  was 
an  insult,  and  Harding  writhed  under  it  as  a  dog 
under  a  lash.  He  would  have  burst  forth  into  some 
sort  ^>f  remonstrance,  but  that  he  knew  he  would 

265 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


make  himself  ridiculous  and  Agatha  worse  than  that. 
He  walked  deliberately  away  from  the  two  and, 
picking  up  a  magazine,  sat  down  and  tried  to  read. 
But  he  could  not  shut  out  their  conversation;  he 
might  have  gone  to  another  room,  but  he  was  held 
by  a  strange  fascination. 

"  She's  promised  to  give  me  a  sitting,"  exclaimed 
Dalzell,  with  a  fine  air  of  triumph. 

"  Not  a  portrait,  I  hope,"  said  the  blandly  sarcas- 
tic voice  of  Atherton. 

"Why  not,  pray?" 

"  She  might  not  like  being  mistaken  for  an  im- 
pressionist cow." 

A  new  group  of  loungers,  Seeing  Dalzell  and 
Atherton,  came  into  the  room.  It  was  always  taken 
for  granted  that  there  would  be  something  worth 
repeating  when  these  two  wits  clashed  weapons. 

"  She  has  promised  to  cit  for  an  allegorical  pic- 
ture," declared  the  artist  serenely. 

"  Then  she  can't  want  notoriety,  Dalzell,  for  she'll 
be  swallowed  up  i.i  your  theories." 

"  I  shall  paint  her  as  '  The  Modern  Circe,'  but 
instead  of  swine  as  the  objects  of  her  fascination 
there  will  be  men — men  of  rotundity,  both  of  per- 
son and  money-bags.  Your  portrait,  Atherton,  will 
be  well  in  the  foreground." 

A  burst  of  appreciative  laughter  greeted  this 
thrust. 

"  There's  one  comfort,"  retorted  the  ruddy 
banker,  "  if  you  paint  it,  I  shall  never  be  recog- 
nized." 

266 


THE  PENALTY  OF  FAME 

Then  a  shout  at  the  artist's  expense,  and  a  tenta- 
tive expression  of  the  opinion  that  it  might  not  be 
too  early  in  the  day  for  gentlemen  to  take  a  drink. 

"  Well,  anyway,"  declared  Dalzell,  "  you  are  at 
her  feet  already,  though  you've  seen  her  but  once." 

"  Nonsense,  my  boy,  it's  only  a  matter  of  busi- 
ness investments." 

This  entertaining  dialogue  was  ended  by  the  sud- 
den appearance  of  a  fair-haired,  boyish  fellow  with 
a  fresh  complexion  and  a  wholesome  atmosphere 
about  him,  who  dashed  up  to  the  group  waving  a 
newspaper. 

"  Here,  you  fellows,"  he  exclaimed,  "  have  you 
seen  the  Morning  Crier?  Here's  a  whole  page  about 
the  Countess."  And  he  held  aloft  a  sheet  half  cov- 
ered over  with  illustrations  and  shrieking  headlines. 
Even  from  his  distance  Harding  could  see  the  un- 
mistakable likeness  of  Agatha  Renier.  The  crass 
baldness  of  the  thing  made  him  shudder. 

"  Read  it  to  us,"  cried  several  of  the  company. 

Nothing  loth,  the  youth  began  the  glowing  article. 
With  great  satisfaction  he  rolled  forth  such  phrases 
as  "  Nobles  at  her  feet  abroad,"  "  Welcomed  by  the 
most  select  literary  circles,"  "  Talk  of  adding  her 
name  to  the  roll  of  the  Immortals,"  "  Another  book 
in  preparation." 

Inevitably  Agatha's  personal  life  then  received  tke 
attention  of  the  writer's  vivid  imagination.  Upon 
the  one  fact  that  she  was  the  granddaughter  of 
Count  Fornay  was  builded  a  most  marvellous  struc- 
ture of  falsehood  and  fancy.  After  stating  that  she 

267 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


had  received  from  her  noble  ancestor  a  fortune  es- 
timated at  several  million  francs,  the  article  pro- 
ceeded : 

"  That  the  advent  of  this  beautiful,  titled  and  tal- 
ented woman  has  set  Gotham  agog  with  admiration 
is  not  surprising  when  it  is  known  that  for  several 
years  she  was  the  open  rival  of  the  Grand  Duchess 
of  Holstein  for  the  affections  of  her  hitherto  de- 
voted and  scandal-free  spouse.  She — " 

"  Let  me  have  that  paper,  will  you,  Armstrong?  " 

Harding  had  jumped  to  his  feet,  impelled  by  an 
overpowering  sense  of  anger  and  outraged  justice. 
He  broke  into  the  group  and  faced  the  boy  with  as 
much  calmness  as  he  could  command  for  service. 

"  Why,  certainly,  Mr.  Harding,  if  you  wish  it," 
replied  the  young  fellow  in  some  astonishment. 

The  minister  crushed  the  paper  in  his  hands  con- 
temptuously, tore  it  backwards  and  forwards  many 
times  and  then  slowly  let  the  pieces  fall  upon  the 
floor. 

"  Gentlemen,"  he  said — and  his  fine  voice  had 
never  been  more  impressive — "  that  story  of  the 
Countess  Fornay  is  a  tissue  of  extravagant  false- 
hoods which  are  an  insult  to  a  good  woman  and  a 
disgrace  to  the  newspaper  that  published  them." 

The  company  was  undoubtedly  interested.  Here 
was  a  parson  who  was  worth  while ;  he  rushed  to  the 
defence  of  the  wonderful  Countess  Fornay,  and  he 
talked  as  if  he  were  sure  of  his  ground.  Others 
joined  the  group,  and  all  stood  around  Harding 
eager  for  his  next  words. 

"  I  knew  the  Countess  Fornay,"  he  went  on, 
268 


THE  PENALTY  OF  FAME 

"  when  she  was — well,  a  girl.  She  has  beauty,  as 
you  all  know.  She  has  also  good  blood  and  good 
brains,  and  her  heart  is  pure,  her  character  such  as 
you  desire  for  your  sisters.  She  is  a  woman  en- 
titled to  the  respect  and  protection  of  every  decent 
man.  Would  you,  Armstrong,  like  to  have  your 
sister  or  your  future  wife  the  subject  of  the  public 
gossip  of  club  loungers  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  Mr.  Harding,  I  would  not,"  returned 
the  boy  with  great  earnestness.  "  I  am  really  sorry ; 
it  was  thoughtless  of  me,"  and  he  shook  the  min- 
ister warmly  by  the  hand,  making  a  sincere  friend 
by  his  honest  avowal. 

"  H'm,"  thought  Atherton,  as  he  left  for  the  finan- 
cial district  and  his  never  ending  scheming,  "  pretty 
warm  defence  on  the  part  of  our  clerical  friend. 
How  sits  the  wind  in  that  quarter,  I  wonder?  I 
shall  make  it  my  business  to  find  out." 

After  the  crowd  separated,  Harding  read  a  little 
more,  this  time  in  peace,  and  then  bethought  himself 
of  his  engagement  with  Agatha.  His  watch  told 
him  that  by  going  afoot  he  would  reach  her  house 
at  about  the  appointed  time. 

"  How  will  it  all  end  ?  "  was  the  question  that 
kept  time  to  his  step  as  he  walked  rapidly  uptown. 


269 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE   EMBERS   OF    HATE 

THE  green-clad  servant  who  took  the  minis- 
ter's card  had  evidently  received  his  in- 
structions, for  he  did  not  carry  it  upstairs, 
but  threw  it  into  a  little  silver  tray  on  the  hall  table, 
remarking : — 

"  Mad'moiselle  La  Countess  gave  ordaires  you 
vere  to  be  shown  zis  vay." 

Harding  followed  the  flunkey  toward  the  stairs, 
when  the  sight  of  a  familiar  figure  made  him  rub 
his  eyes.  No,  there  was  no  mistake  about  it;  it  was 
the  well-knit  frame  of  James  Anderson,  who  had 
disappeared  from  Old  Chetford  shortly  after  the  de- 
parture of  Agatha  and  Mrs.  Copeland.  The  ex- 
coachman's  square-cut  face  was  illumined  by  a  broad 
smile  as  he  saw  his  old-time  antagonist  with  the 
stuffed  mittens.  He  approached  and  bowed  re- 
spectfully. 

"  I  thought  I  couldn't  be  mistaken,  James,"  said 
the  minister,  as  he  extended  his  hand  cordially, 
"  how  are  you  ?  " 

"  Very  well,  sir,  thank  ye  kindly.  I  hopes  you 
are  the  same." 

"  As  usual,  Anderson,  and  glad  to  see  you  again." 

Oblivious  to  the  disdain  which  this  exhibition  of 
270 


THE  EMBERS  OF  HATE 

courtesy  from  a  visitor  to  a  servant  had  aroused  in 
the  breast  of  the  Gallic  gentleman,  Harding  fol- 
lowed his  leader  up  one  flight  to  a  dainty  morning 
room  which  was  just  now  in  a  state  of  delightful 
confusion  occasioned  by  the  presence  of  several  gaily 
adorned  pasteboard  boxes  and  fluffy  heaps  of  silks, 
muslins,  tulles  and  other  fabrics  beloved  by  femi- 
ninity. A  large,  yellow-haired  woman  in  street  cos- 
tume was  just  leaving  the  apartment. 

Agatha's  greeting  was  kind  in  a  volatile  sort  of 
way,  but  her  manner,  Harding  thought,  was  more 
artificial  than  he  liked  to  see. 

"  You  will  pardon  this  confusion,  I  know,  Mr. 
Harding,"  she  rattled  on,  "  but  Madame  Lafarge 
has  been  showing  me  the  superior  points  of  the  new 
gowns  her  firm  has  just  completed  for  me.  Would 
you  like  to  view  the  feminine  '  wanities  '  ?  " 

He  nodded  as  a  matter  of  courtesy,  and  she,  pick- 
ing up  one  creation  after  another,  shook  each  out 
gaily  and  held  it  against  her  body  that  the  effect 
might  be  noted.  Through  it  all  she  chatted  with  a 
volubility  that  somehow  seemed  not  quite  on  the 
right  key  to  Harding's  sensitive  ear.  It  was  not 
that  she  took  delight  in  the  pretty  dresses,  for  so  did 
he,  so  far  as  his  masculine  mind  would  permit;  it 
was  the  apparent  shallowness  of  the  new  Agatha 
that  troubled  him.  Finally  he  said,  with  a  touch  of 
sternness : — 

'  Not  much  like  the  old  life,  Agatha ;  but  I  see 
you  have  a  bit  of  it  in  the  house." 

She  looked  up  from  the  critical  inspection  of  a 
ruffle,  with  inquiry  in  her  eyes. 

271 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  I  mean  James  Anderson." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  Mrs.  Copeland  sent  for  him  to  come  to 
Paris  on  the  steamer  next  after  ours.  He  was  an 
invaluable  body-guard,  even  if  he  did  sometimes  get 
into  trouble  through  his  truly  British  determination 
not  to  learn  French."  And  she  laughed  heartily. 

"  I  was  glad  to  see  him ;  it  was  like  a  breath  of 
the  old  days. — Do  you  ever  miss  them,  Agatha?  " 

"Miss  them?" 

There  was  a  suggestion  of.  tears  in  the  voice,  a 
sudden  shifting  from  gaiety  to  deep  yearning. 
.  "  Do  you  prefer  this — this  style  of  life?  " 

"  Prefer  it !  "  she  echoed  again,  with  a  bitterness 
of  accent  that  stung  him  to  the  very  core. 

"Then  why—?" 

"  You  ask  why  ?  "  she  cried,  rising  impetuously. 
"  Have  you  forgotten  what  happened  five  years  ago  ? 
Have  you  forgotten  that  the  kindliest,  noblest 
woman  in  Old  Chetford  was  driven  from  her  home 
because  she  had  befriended  a  young  girl  and  was 
true  to  her  in  the  hour  of  calumny  ?  Have  you  for- 
gotten that  that  girl's  grandfather  was  sent  to  his 
death  by  a  vile  letter  penned  by  a  vile  man,  who, 
under  the  guise  of  friendship  and  the  respectability 
lent  him  by  the  countenance  of  his  upright  aunt,  in- 
sulted and  incited  others  to  insult  a  girl  whose  only 
fault  was  that  she  accepted  his  counterfeit  of  de- 
cency as  genuine  ?  Have  you  forgotten  those  things, 
I  say?" 

"  No,  Agatha,  I  have  not  forgotten,"  he  replied 
sadly. 

"  Perhaps  you  may  not  have  forgotten,  too,  how 
272 


THE  EMBERS  OF  HATE 

the  memory  of  that  girl's  mother  was  reviled  in  the 
streets;  yes,  even  in  the  church;  how  the  false 
accusers  of  her  daughter  smiled  knowingly,  and  in- 
famously suggested  that  the  daughter  of  such  a 
woman  could  not  be  other  than  they  said  she  was. 
I  have  not  forgotten.  For  five  years  I  have  thought 
and  thought  of  the  cruelty  of  it  all.  For  five  years 
I  have  schemed  and  planned  that  I  might  fit  myself 
to  exact  the  measure  of  vengeance  that  such  crimes 
demand.  To-day  I  stand  on  the  threshold  of  the 
temple  of  justice  in  which  I  shall  be  judge  and  exe- 
cutioner. I  will  humble  these  people  who  have  out- 
raged the  dead  and  maligned  the  living.  I  care 
little  for  myself,  but  the  memory  of  the  dead  will 
not  suffer  me  to  forget  or  overlook  their  wrongs.  I 
have  position  and  the  influence  of  friends.  Fate  has 
been  kind  to  me.  My  birthright  came  to  me  almost 
by  accident.  Years  ago  I  swore  that  Old  Chetford 
should  one  day  kneel  to  me,  and  that  I  would  turn 
away  in  disdain.  I  tell  you,  Ralph  Harding,  that 
day  is  near  at  hand !  " 

As  the  fires  of  this  outburst  burned  themselves 
away,  leaving  only  the  ashes  of  their  wrath,  the  girl 
sank  to  her  knees  before  a  great  stuffed  chair  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  Then  came  the  need- 
ful flood  of  tears.  The  minister  watched  her  sob- 
shaken  figure  for  a  minute  or  two  and  then  gently 
raised  her  with  quieting  words.  He  was  greatly  per- 
turbed; here  was  a  soul  in  distress,  such  as  he  had 
long  since  vowed  to  help.  But  how,  in  such  an  in- 
stance? 

To  comfort  this  beautiful  woman  whom  he  held 

275 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


so  dear  was  a  vastly  different  thing  from  solacing  his 
"  people  "  in  trouble.  He  who  knew  all,  who  knew 
even  more  than  Agatha  herself,  of  the  injustice  of 
society's  attitude  toward  her,  could  scarcely  blame 
her  for  bitterness  against  the  powers  that  were.  Yet 
he  feared  for  the  corroding  force  of  long-cherished 
desire  for  revenge  upon  the  soul  of  this  unhappy 
girl. 

He  would  have  given  five  years  of  his  life  for  the 
eloquence  that  should  show  her  the  truth,  but  he 
knew  her  nature  well  enough,  even  in  its  changed 
form,  to  be  sure  that  open  opposition  and  direct  argu- 
ment would  but  add  fresh  fuel  to  the  flames. 

He  went  to  the  window  for  a  moment,  and  looked 
out  upon  the  tide  of  traffic  flowing  up  and  down  with 
ceaseless  gaiety  under  the  spring  sun.  Not  far  away, 
where  the  delicate  twin  spires  of  the  cathedral  pierced 
the  blue,  he  saw  in  the  street  a  long  line  of  carriages 
drawn  up  against  the  curb.  A  bright  canopy  was 
stretched  across  the  sidewalk,  evidently  to  be  the  first 
avenue  into  the  world  of  some  newly-made  bride. 

With  a  sigh  he  turned  from  the  scene,  to  meet  a 
gaze  of  intensity  from  Agatha  which  he  could  not 
fathom.  He  crushed  down  all  other  thoughts  and 
began  to  put  some  practical  questions  to  the  girl. 

"  What  do  you  propose  to  do  ?  "  he  asked,  trying 
to  speak  calmly. 

"  I  shall  go  to  Old  Chetford  in  June.  The  Cope- 
land  house — it  is  mine  now — is  being  renovated,  and 
I  shall  see  to  it  that  those  who  are  my  guests  while 
I  am  there  will  prove  to  calumniators  that  in  mere 
position  they  are  not  worthy  to  tie  my  shoe." 

274 


THE  EMBERS  OF  HATE 

"  And  your  money,  Agatha  ?  You  have  enough 
to  enable  you  to  live  as  I  find  you  here?  " 

"  For  the  present,  yes.  The  Count  left  me  an 
estate  of  three  hundred  thousand  francs;  of  this  I 
have  thirty-five  thousand  dollars  left.  I  hate  the 
money,  and  would  not  touch  it,  save  for  this  one 
purpose.  If  I  need  more,  I  can  make  it.  Indeed,  I 
have  already  proved  this  to  my  own  satisfaction 
here  in  New  York." 

Harding  wondered  how,  but  did  not  seek  to  inves- 
tigate. Instead  he  ventured  another  inquiry. 

"  You  spoke  of  a  letter  to  your  grandfather.  May 
I  know  about  it  ?  " 

"  Is  it  possible  you  do  not  know  ?  Yet,  why 
should  you  ?  " 

She  told  the  story,  and  he,  too,  felt  much  of  her 
passionate  indignation.  But  he  saw  that  she  had  not 
read  the  authorship  of  the  letter  aright,  and  his  sense 
of  fairness  would  not  allow  him  to  keep  silent,  even 
for  such  a  man  as  Guy  Hamilton.  Knowing  the 
cloak  episode,  he  was  morally  certain  that  the  miser- 
able wife  of  his  lawyer-friend  had  penned  the  words 
that  sent  Captain  Stewart  to  his  grave.  So,  in  a 
general  way,  he  defended  Guy  as  a  possible  victim  of 
unwarranted  suspicions,  and  urged  that  the  meanest 
creature  was  entitled  to  justice. 

He  could  not  help  wondering  if  Agatha  had  ever 
heard  of  the  episode  at  the  Attawam  Club  on  that 
tumultuous  night  when  James  Anderson  became  her 
champion  by  proxy.  In  her  present  condition,  how- 
ever, he  would  not  have  dared  interrogate  her. 

The  name  of  Guy  Hamilton,  coming  from  his  lips 

275 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


and  uttered  in  tones  of  attempted  charity,  was  like 
flame  to  flax  in  the  girl's  already  surcharged  heart. 
An  intensity  of  hatred  burned  in  her  eyes,  and  her 
face  was  hardened  into  something  that  troubled  the 
minister  deeply. 

"  Justice  to  him !  "  she  said  with  curling  lip.  "  A 
horse-whip  or  a  hempen  noose  would  be  justice,  per- 
haps. But  I  do  not  want  that  kind  of  justice.  He 
must  be  reached,  as  I  shall  reach  him,  through  his 
selfish  impulses.  His  pride,  his  self-esteem,  must  be 
abased.  I  shall  find  a  way.  As  for  that  woman — the 
woman  who,  while  she  was  trying  to  disgrace  me 
was  paving  the  road  to  her  own  shame — she,  too, 
shall  suffer  through  me.  How  I  do  not  know,  but 
vengeance  will  come.  Right,  fate,  God,  everything 
is  on  my  side. — No,  I  know  what  you  would  say," 
she  added  quickly,  as  Harding  made  a  deprecatory 
gesture  and  would  have  spoken,  "  but  it  would  be 
useless.  You  are  a  true  friend  and  a  noble  man,  but 
you  have  not  suffered  as  I  have,  and  you  cannot 
realize  the  truth.  You  must  let  me  work  out  my  own 
salvation  in  my  own  way." 

For  a  long  time  after  this  there  was  silence  be- 
tween them,  she  dreaming  of  the  day  of  her  triumph, 
of  which  she  was  as  sure  as  that  she  should  wake  on 
the  morrow,  and  he  again  turning  the  pages  of  the 
past  until  he  came  to  that  scene  of  the  whalers'  fare- 
well supper  to  their  "  Aggy."  How  often  had  he  re- 
called that  warning  phrase  of  his,  tinged  with  a 
darker  hue  of  fate  than  he  dreamed  at  the  time. 
This  harking  back  to  the  "  Harpoon "  suggested 
something  that  might  break  the  tension  of  their 
present  attitude;  he  would  try  it. 

276 


THE  EMBERS  OF  HATE 

"  I  saw  Hank  Donelson  the  last  time  I  was  in  Old 
Chetford,  Agatha,  and  he  spoke  of  you,  as  he  always 
does." 

In  an  instant  the  clouds  rolled  away  from  the 
girl's  mind,  and  she  saw  only  the  brightness  of  the 
days  far  back  of  her  first  great  trouble.  She  clapped 
her  hands  gaily,  and  smiled  as  charmingly  as  of  old. 

"  And  Captain  Sykes  and  Artemas — did  you  see 
them,  too,  dear  old  barnacles  that  they  are !  " 

"  Yes,  both  of  them ;  hale  and  hearty,  too,  they 
were,  and  still  talking  of  their  '  little  craft  that  ain't 
been  spoken  for  a  thunderin'  while  an'  is  a  good  deal 
overdue.' ' 

"  The  salt  old  tarry  angels !  And  is  Artemas  as 
much  of  a  roistering  blade  as  ever,  and  is  Captain 
Sykes  tired  of  telling  the  '  Mozambique  '  yarn  yet  ?  " 

"  They're  the  same  to  a  dot,  Agatha."  Then  sud- 
denly :  "  How  would  you  like  to  see  them  ?  " 

"See  them?" 

'''  Yes ;  I've  been  thinking  of  inviting  them  to  New 
York  for  a  day  or  two  as  my  guests.  If  I  do  that, 
would  you  like  to  have  me  bring  them  up  here?  " 

"  Why  of  course,  Mr.  Harding,"  cried  she  de- 
lightedly, "  and  you  are  so  good  to  have  thought  of 
it.  You  know  I  cannot  go  to  Old  Chetford — yet. 
Get  them  over  as  soon  as  ever  you  can." 

Harding  agreed  to  expedite  matters,  and  went 
down  town  with  a  far  brighter  hope  for  Agatha  than 
he  had  yet  felt.  The  last  few  moments  of  their  inter- 
view had  told  him  that  she  still  had  a  heart. 

That  night  a  letter  was  sent  to  Old  Chetford  on  a 
mission  that  was  destined  to  bring  much  joy  to  the 
three  musketeers  of  Tuckerman's  Wharf. 

277 


CHAPTER  XXX 

A  RIFT  IN   THE   CLOUDS 

FOR  several  days  Agatha  was  to  Harding  a 
flitting  and  a  fleeting  vision.  He  had  called 
once  or  twice,  but  found  that  her  time  was  so 
fully  claimed  by  the  exactions  of  social  duties  as  to 
give  little  opportunity  for  friendly  chats.  Receptions 
to  which  she  was  invited  and  which  she  herself  gave, 
suppers,  theatre-parties,  musicales  and  the  dozens 
of  other  frivolities  with  which  the  semi-Bohemian 
set  in  New  York  seeks  to  amuse  itself,  absolutely 
filled  her  life  almost  to,  the  exclusion  of  personal  com- 
fort. 

"  I  am  sure  she  doesn't  really  care  for  this  sort  of 
thing,"  mused  the  minister  over  a  pipe  in  his  plain 
little  bedroom,  "  it  isn't  in  her  nature  to.  All  these 
fripperies,  I  can  see,  are  being  used  simply  as  a 
means  to  an  end.  On  the  whole,  I  rather  wish  the 
life  she  is  leading  interested  her  a  little  more.  It 
would  be  better  for  her  nature  than  that  dull  hunger 
for  vengeance  that's  gnawing  at  her  soul." 

He  thought  of  trying  to  enlist  her  in  his  work 
among  "  distressed  souls,"  but  abandoned  the  idea  as 
impracticable  for  the  present.  He  could  do  nothing 
now  but  wait  and  hope. 

A  letter  from  Captain  Sykes,  flavored  with  the 
278 


A  RIFT  IN  THE  CLOUDS 

breath  of  the  ocean,  came  to  him  in  due  time  accept- 
ing gladly  the  invitation  to  visit  New  York.  In  it 
some  nautical  phrase  suggested  his  own  relations 
with  Agatha — it  was  curious  how  most  things  of 
power  or  picturesqueness  did  suggest  her.  He 
seemed  to  be  the  keeper  of  a  lighthouse  near  a  reef. 
Agatha's  safety  was  threatened  on  a  dark  and  tem- 
pestuous night,  and  he,  imprisoned,  could  only  guard 
and  trim  the  light  until  wind  and  wave  should  drive 
their  precious  burden  nearer  to  him.  But — would 
she  see  the  beacon  tended  by  his  love  and  care  and  be 
•guided  by  it  into  the  safe  channel  ?  It  was  a  question 
that  almost  stunned  him. 

He  was  greatly  delighted  when  James  Anderson 
hunted  him  up  at  his  lodgings  one  evening  to  talk 
over  old  times  in  the  smoke  of  good  tobacco.  He 
sincerely  admired  that  sturdy  ex-prize-fighter  for  a 
devotion  to  Agatha  which  was  like  the  honest  love 
of  a  noble  dog  for  its  mistress,  and  he  thought  more 
of  him  than  ever  when  James,  in  hesitating  fashion, 
made  evident  that  the  girl's  manner  of  living  and 
bitterness  of  spirit  had  impressed  him  profoundly. 

As  a  result  of  this  consultation  it  was  agreed  that 
James,  who  was  now  Agatha's  courier  and  agent  in 
many  things,  should  keep  a  sharp  watch  upon  affairs 
in  the  big  house,  and  report  at  once  to  Harding  if 
any  untoward  events  should  occur. 

"  That  is  a  bit  like  playing  the  spy,"  thought  the 
minister  after  James  had  gone,  "  but  if  ever  the  end 
justified  the  means,  this  is  the  case." 

The  next  evening,  as  a  dainty  card  on  his  study 
table  told  him,  Agatha  was  to  give  an  "  At  Home, 

279 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


with  Music."  Although  this  sort  of  thing  had  long 
been  foreign  to  Harding's  mode  of  life,  he  deter- 
mined to  go.  He  argued  that  he  might  be  able  to 
formulate  some  plan  to  help  her  by  seeing  the  sort  of 
people  with  whom  she  was  surrounded ;  but  the  fact 
was  that  even  in  the  crowd  that  was  certain  to  be  in 
attendance  upon  a  reigning  favorite  he  would  obtain 
pleasure  from  her  mere  presence. 

When  he  reached  the  Fifth  Avenue  house  on  the 
following  night  it  was  aflame  with  many  window 
lights,  and  a  long  line  of  carriages  was  crawling 
along  the  curb,  each  stopping  for  a  moment  to  dis- 
charge its  butterfly  occupants.  The  music  of  a 
string  band  floated  vaguely  out  upon  the  night  air, 
its  individuality  blurred  by  the  ceaseless  chatter  of 
many  tongues.  James  Anderson  stood  at  the  steps, 
dignified  and  unperturbed,  but  the  French  servants 
within  the  hall  were  running  about  and  gesticulating 
with  great  apparent  excitement  in  their  attempts  to 
settle  the  guests. 

The  great  double  drawing-room  of  crimson  and 
silver  tones,  and  just  now  beautifully  decorated  with 
choice  flowers,  was  filling  rapidly,  and  Harding 
joined  the  throng  unobserved  by  anyone  he  knew. 
He  determined  to  hold  aloof  for  a  time  and  note  the 
conditions  by  which  Agatha  was  environed. 

Just  at  present  the  girl  was  gaily  chatting  in 
French  with  M.  Sayer,  a  famous  violinist  whom  she 
had  met  in  Paris.  He  was  a  tall,  ponderous  man 
with  a  smooth  face  and  straight  black  hair  that  fell 
over  his  ears  in  somewhat  saintly  fashion.  There 
was  nothing  saintly  about  the  real  individual,  how- 

280 


A  RIFT  IN  THE  CLOUDS 

ever,  for  the  story  of  his  amours,  one  of  which  had 
been  with  a  world-renowned  prima-donna,  would 
have  filled  a  volume.  Harding  knew  the  artist's 
reputation,  and  a  chill  struck  to  his  heart  as  he  saw 
the  leer  the  player  cast  upon  Agatha's  beautiful 
shoulders  and  neck.  He  himself  had  never  seen  her 
in  evening  dress  before,  and  to  have  this  almost  holy 
first  impression  marred  by  the  satyr-genius  was  in- 
tolerable. 

Nor  were  some  of  the  others  who  fluttered  about 
the  radiant  young  woman  any  more  reassuring.  He 
saw  the  sensual-faced  Atherton  greeted  like  an  old 
friend  by  the  girl ;  he  saw  Theodore  Edlington,  one 
of  the  Realists'  nastiest  poets  of  decadence,  engage 
her  in  conversation ;  he  saw  "  Satan  "  Montgomery, 
with  most  horrible  of  reputations,  touch  that  white 
and  shapely  hand.  At  last  came  Harry  Armstrong, 
fresh,  honest  and  admiring,  and  Harding  was  thank- 
ful for  the  little  leaven  that  his  presence  afforded. 

The  women  were,  of  course,  irreproachable. 
Agatha  was  now  wise  enough  to  know  that  whatever 
the  masculine  portion  of  her  devotees  might  lack  in 
the  virtues,  the  feminine  contingent  must  counter- 
balance in  order  that  her  own  status  might  be  secure. 

She  had  invited  several  leaders  in  consular  circles, 
a  woman  novelist  or  two,  an  actress  of  excellent 
social  standing,  some  music  patrons  and  a  sprinkling 
of  others  well  known  as  bohemians  of  position.  It 
was  a  bright  and  entertaining  crowd,  and  the  event 
was  at  once  a  success.  M.  Sayer's  playing  was  de- 
lightful as  ever ;  his  air  of  rapt  spirituality  as  fasci- 
nating and  as  inscrutable. 

281 


As  the  evening  wore  away,  the  minister,  who  had 
been  very  cordially  received  by  Agatha  and  made  to 
feel  somehow  like  a  guest  of  honor,  could  not  fail  to 
notice  the  avidity  with  which  the  sleek  Atherton 
hung  upon  the  girl's  words  and  the  ill-concealed 
grossness  of  the  attentions  he  paid  her.  Others,  too, 
were  impressed,  as  he  learned  when  young  Arm- 
strong approached  him  with  boyish  wrath  upon  his 
fair  face. 

"  Isn't  it  disgraceful,  the  way  Atherton  looks  at 
the  Countess  ?  "  he  exclaimed  impetuously.  "  He 
hasn't  a  bit  of  respect  for  any  woman,  that  fellow.  I 
wish  I  were  her  brother  for  a  few  minutes;  I'd — 
I'd—" 

Harding  had  no  real  fear  for  Agatha ;  he  felt  in- 
dignation, however,  that  so  much  moral  leprosy 
should  be  almost  in  touch  with  her.  Yet  he  smiled, 
too,  as  he  saw  her  surrounded  like  a  queen  by  the 
crowd  of  sycophants,  thinking  of  Philip  Dalzell's  in- 
tention of  painting  her  as  a  Circe,  with  men  instead 
of  swine  as  her  victims.  He  was  sure  that  this 
gathering  did  not  appeal  to  her  as  made  up  of  indi- 
viduals; they  were  a  collective  means  to  an  end, 
like  the  whole  life  she  was  now  leading.  Yet  again 
this  Atherton — Did  not  Agatha's  pronounced  favor 
toward  him  raise  him  from  the  level  of  being  simply 
a  part  of  the  whole?  He  was  much  relieved  when 
Dalzell  sauntered  up  to  the  window,  where  he  was 
standing  in  semi-retirement,  and  observed: 

"  Atherton's  at  it  again,  talking  shop  now  to  the 
fair  Countess,  and,  strange  to  say,  she  appears  to 

282 


A  RIFT  IN  THE  CLOUDS 

know  as  much  about  stocks  as  he  does."  And  he 
yawned  and  wandered  away. 

Atherton  had  interested  Agatha  very  deeply.  He 
was  a  brilliant  talker  where  finance  was  concerned, 
and  he  spread  before  her  mind  pictures  of  the  "  mar- 
ket "  that  were  vivid  and  seductive.  Here  they  met 
on  common  ground,  ground  upon  which  she  hoped 
to  erect  the  fabric  of  her  ambition.  He  told  her  in 
particular  of  a  company  in  which  he  was  interested 
and  which  would  repay  her  investigation,  if  she 
cared  to  place  her  money  to  good  advantage.  Her 
instinct  told  her  that  he  was  sincere,  that  he  was 
fascinated  by  her  and  would  put  wealth  in  her  way 
so  long  as  he  was  favored. 

"  Some  of  the  best  operators  on  the  '  street '  are  in 
it,"  he  had  declared,  "  and  its  president  is  that  luck- 
iest of  plungers,  Guy  Hamilton.  You've  heard  of 
him,  perhaps." 

Agatha  started  at  the  name,  and  breathed  heavily 
for  a  moment.  Her  hand  sought  her  heart ;  her  face 
was  tense  and  drawn.  To  think  that  that  despised 
name  should  come  forth  at  such  a  time  and  in  such 
a  place!  Atherton  must  certainly  have  noticed  her 
agitation,  for  he  was  as  keen  as  a  ferret,  but  that  the 
noise  of  a  sudden  disturbance  in  the  hall  attracted 
his  attention  in  common  with  that  of  all  the  guests. 

The  protesting  tones  of  a  servant  uttered  in  very 
rapid  broken  English  rose  above  the  general  hum  of 
conversation,  followed  by  a  high-pitched,  squeaky 
voice  in  reply. 

"  Huh !  I  tell  ye  we  will  go  in,  consarn  ye.  Parson 
283 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


Hardin's  in  thar,  an'  it's  him  we  come  ter  see.  An* 
mebbe  our  Aggy's  thar  too.  Leastwise,  we're  a-goinr 
ter  find  out,  so  avast  thar,  ye  land  lubber." 

In  another  instant  there  appeared  in  the  broad 
doorway  the  strangest  trio  that  ever  set  foot  in  a 
New  York  drawing-room.  The  tiny  figure  of  Hank 
Donelson  in  the  centre,  was  flanked  on  one  side  by 
the  big  and  ruddy  Captain  Sykes  and  on  the  other 
by  the  weazened  Artemas.  There  they  stood  shoul- 
der to  shoulder,  like  the  three  guardsmen  of  death- 
less fame,  but  with  all  their  courage  of  a  moment  ago 
utterly  wiped  out  by  the  brilliancy  of  the  scene  before 
them.  Then,  too,  they  felt  that  their  apparel,  which 
they  had  thought  so  elegant  and  modish  when  they 
left  Old  Chetford,  was  after  all  scarcely  adapted  to 
evening  wear.  Even  the  Captain's  long  frock  coat, 
the  pride  of  them  all,  into  which  he  had  managed  to 
stow  his  capacious  chest  with  tremendous  effort,  now 
seemed  commonplace;  Hank  began  to  despise  his 
cherished  tight  lavender  trousers  and  Artemas  had 
dark  suspicions  of  the  immense  scarlet  necktie  he 
had  purchased  especially  for  the  trip.  A  well-bred 
titter  added  to  their  pitiable  confusion.  They  were 
helpless,  speechless  and  were  just  about  to  turn  and 
flee  precipitately  when — 

A  tall,  beautiful  vision  in  moss-rose  satin  sprang 
from  somewhere  within  the  gay  throng  and  ran 
across  the  room  to  greet  them.  The  vision  wrung 
each  one's  hands  warmly  and  kissed  each  in  the  sim- 
ple fashion  of  childhood.  It  was  Agatha,  yes,  their 
dear  "  Aggy  "  grown  so  handsome  and  so  grand  that 
she  overawed  them,  yet  not  too  grand  to  remember 

284 


'Yet  not  too  grand  to  remember  old  friends." 


A  RIFT  IN  THE  CLOUDS 

old  friends  and  the  days  when  she  was  their  pet  and 
their  pride.  The  warm-hearted  little  Hank  could 
have  wept  with  delight,  but  he  realized  that  digni- 
fied composure  was  due  this  splendid  young  woman, 
and  he  whispered  to  his  companions  that  they  must 
"  keep  sheets  taut  and  head  up  into  the  wind  like  a 
frigate." 

Agatha  turned  with  a  little  apology  for  the  inter- 
ruption and  introduced  the  three  mariners  to  the 
company. 

"  They  are  very  dear  old  friends  of  my  child- 
hood," she  added  simply,  "  and  comrades  of  my 
dead  grandfather." 

All  this  was  accepted  by  Agatha's  guests  as  a  de- 
lightful manifestation  of  the  eccentricity  of  genius; 
give  a  woman  a  title,  and  society  will  applaud  if  she 
chooses  to  turn  handsprings  in  public.  So  they  made 
much  of  the  tars  as  interesting  specimens  from  an- 
other world,  and  before  the  evening  had  far  spent 
itself  Dalzell  had  exacted  a  half-promise  from  Arte- 
mas  that  he  would  give  him  a  sitting  for  a  study  to 
be  called  "  The  Ancient  Mariner." 

When  the  people  dispersed,  Atherton  was  among 
the  last  to  leave,  loth  to  depart  from  this  woman  who 
had  so  impressed  him.  After  Agatha  had  bidden 
him  good-night,  she  added : 

"  I  will  call  at  your  office  to-morrow,  Mr.  Ath- 
erton, and  we  can  resume  our  very  interesting  dis- 
cussion." 

As  the  financier  descended  the  steps  he  chuckled 
and  rubbed  his  hands  together  with  a  lingering,  ca- 
ressing motion,  characteristic  of  him  when  he 

285 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


thought  that  his  plans  were  maturing  satisfactorily. 
His  overweening  vanity  led  him  to  imagine  that 
Agatha's  interest  in  him  was  special  and  personal, 
and  he  determined  to  foster  this  by  every  means  in 
his  power,  good  or  ill — it  mattered  very  little. 

If  he  had  reentered  the  house,  his  smile  of  self- 
congratulation  might  have  turned  to  a  grimace  of 
chagrin,  for,  forgetful  of  him  and  even  of  the  Guy 
Hamilton  whose  ghost  he  had  raised,  Agatha  Renier, 
Countess  Fornay,  was  sitting  cross-legged  on  the 
floor  in  her  satin  gown,  and  before  her,  charmed, 
amazed  and  a  bit  bewildered,  were  the  three  old 
sailors  of  Tuckerman's  Wharf. 


286 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

FOR  HIGH  STAKES 

THE  visitors  from  old  Chetford  were  installed 
for  Ac  Might  in  the  most  luxurious  quarters 
they  had  ever  known.  To  Harding's  pro- 
posal to  take  the  tars  down  town  and  provide  lodg- 
ings for  them  near  his  own  chambers  Agatha  turned 
a  deaf  ear.  She  would  not  hear  of  the  old  fellows' 
departure,  especially  as  spare  rooms  were  plentiful  in 
the  big  house.  So  Hank,  Artemas  and  Captain 
Sykes  each  got  as  beautiful  a  bedroom  as  any  so- 
ciety queen.  What  to  do  with  such  magnificence 
they  scarcely  knew,  but  a  bed,  at  least,  needs  no 
introduction  to  tired  human  beings,  and  at  last  they 
were  settled  for  the  night. 

At  breakfast  next  morning  they  were  as  happy  as 
larks,  although  Artemas  did  mildly  repine  at  his 
failure  to  sleep. 

"  Yer  see,  Miss  Aggy,"  he  observed,  "  it's  the 
fust  time  in  nigh  on  ter  forty  years,  when  I  came  ter 
York  afore,  that  I've  spent  a  night  out'n  the  ol' 
hammock.  Yer  bed  was  terrible  purty  an'  powerful 
soft,  but  thet  thar  sinkin'  down  whenever  ye  moved 
was  more'n  I  could  stand.  So  I  jest  pulled  the  mat- 
tress off'n  thet  thar  wire  contraption  and  put  it  on 

287 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


the  floor.     Ye  won't  mind,  will  ye,  Aggy  ? "  he 
queried,  in  some  trepidation. 

"  No,  indeed,  Artemas,"  she  replied,  laughing 
gaily.  "  To-night  you  shall  have  the  spring  removed 
and  slats  put  in,  if  you  like." 

"  Thankee;  thankee  kindly,"  said  the  grateful  old 
man. 

The  meal  was  not  achieved  without  sundry  per- 
turbations of  spirit  on  the  part  of  the  whalers. 
Gentlemen  at  heart,  they  feared  that  their  ignorance 
of  the  amenities  of  a  refined  table  might  shame 
Agatha  in  the  eyes  of  her  servants.  Wonderful  men, 
those  servants !  Such  lordly  dignity  as  encompassed 
the  butler,  in  particular,  had  never  been  seen  before. 
Hank  watched  him  closely,  wondering  what  stroke 
of  fate  had  brought  such  an  evident  scion  of  a  noble 
family  into  service.  As  the  man  brought  him  his 
coffee  with  the  suavity  and  pomp  of  a  diplomatic 
dean,  his  eyes  nearly  popped  out  of  his  head,  and 
the  food  he  was  carrying  to  his  mouth  stopped  half- 
way. Sykes  noted  Agatha's  movements  and  imi- 
tated all  that  she  did,  while  Artemas,  more  inde- 
pendent than  either  of  his  friends,  fed  himself  in 
his  own  way  serenely,  and  made  a  breakfast  that 
warmed  the  cockles  of  his  heart. 

"  Suthin'  like  ol'  times,  eh  ?  "  asked  Captain  Sykes 
jovially,  as  they  ate  and  chatted  and  were  very 
happy.  Then,  seeing  the  shadow  that  passed  over 
his  hostess'  face,  he  added  gently :  "  'ceptin' — one." 

"  Yes,  dear  old  grandfather,"  murmured  the  girl 
with  glistening  eyes.  "  And  the  '  Harpoon  ' — has 
she — has  she  been  broken  up  ?  " 

288 


FOR  HIGH  STAKES 


No  answer  came  from  a  single  tar.  Artemas 
looked  at  Sykes,  Sykes  looked  at  him,  and  both 
looked  at  Hank  Donelson.  Hank  looked  at  the 
French  clock  on  the  mantel  with  a  gaze  of  intense 
concentration. 

"  Ye  heern  what  Miss  Aggy  said,"  observed  the 
captain  mildly. 

"  Yes,  Hank,  is  she  broke  up  ?  "  piped  Artemas. 

The  little  tar  started  as  from  a  deep  revery. 

"  Oh,  no ;  she  ain't  broke  up — yet,"  he  replied, 
and  his  ruddy  face  gradually  worked  itself  into  the 
semblance  of  a  smile. 

"  I'm  glad  of  that,"  said  the  girl  simply.  Where- 
at all  three  of  the  old  sea-fossils  chuckled  immoder- 
ately. Agatha  wondered  a  little  as  to  what  amused 
her  guests  so  much,  but  knowing  them  to  be  "  odd 
fish,"  nothing  they  could  do  appeared  strange  to 
her. 

Breakfast  over,  the  trio  retired  to  the  library  at 
Agatha's  express  command  for  a  pull  at  their  pipes. 
From  that  room  came,  from  time  to  time,  the  sound 
of  Hank's  voice  addressing  something  in  a  pleading 
tone  to  Artemas.  Then  Sykes's  deep  bass  joined  in, 
and  finally  all  three  seemed  to  be  talking  at  once  and 
rather  excitedly.  Agatha  ventured  in  to  ask  what 
the  matter  was. 

"  Why,  yer  see,  Miss  Aggy,"  explained  the  cap- 
tain, "  the  boy,  here,  is  pesterin'  Artemas  ter  take 
him  down  ter  the  Bow'ry  ter  see  the  sights.  Artemas 
was  here  onct  afore  an'  knows  the  ropes.  But  we 
don't  know  as  how  the  young  feller  ought  ter  be 
took  ter  such  a  place." 

289 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  Oh,  I  think  it  entirely  safe,"  replied  Agatha,  as 
seriously  as  she  was  able,  "  With  two  such 
guardians  as  you,  Hank  will  not  be  corrupted,  1 
am  sure." 

Thus  encouraged,  they  sallied  forth  under  the 
pilotage  of  Slickersley,  who,  forty  years  before,  had 
actually  been  in  the  classic  street  that  Hank  desired 
to  tread,  and  felt  intensely  proud  of  his  superior 
knowledge. 

Soon  after  their  departure  Agatha  was  driven  by 
James  Anderson  to  Wall  Street,  and  reached  that 
dark  canon  of  finance  as  its  rushing  flood  of  business 
was  at  its  height. 

The  offices  of  Atherton  were  high  up  in  an  im- 
mense building  near  the  Stock  Exchange,  and  were 
typical  of  that  luxury  with  which  the  kings  of  gam- 
ing delight  to  surround  themselves.  Carpets  of  the 
richest  velvet  hushed  the  hurrying  footfalls  of  em- 
ployes and  "  customers;  "  fine  paintings  gave  relief 
to  eyes  wearied  by  the  ceaseless  procession  of  figures 
on  the  "  tape;  "  beautiful  and  elaborately  appointed 
desks  were  at  the  service  of  speculators,  and  there 
was  a  handsome,  glass-enclosed  room  for  women 
"'Clients,"  of  whom  Atherton  had  a  large  number. 
Here  Agatha  sat  for  a  moment  until  the  broker 
should  appear ;  she  knew  he  would  not  delay. 

A  "  ticker  "  was  spewing  forth  its  endless  strip  of 
narrow  paper,  hammering  upon  it  the  fateful  figures 
which  so  many  thousands  of  eyes,  bright  with  hope, 
or  "  dim  with  unshed  tear,"  were  watching  at  that 
very  moment  as  far  as  Wall  Street  was  a  power. 
Agatha  lifted  the  coil  from  its  tall  wicker  basket 

290 


FOR  HIGH  STAKES 


and  passed  it  quickly  through  her  fingers,  noting  the 
selling  prices  of  certain  stocks.  Evidently  the  gods 
of  chance  were  well  inclined,  for  she  smiled  at 
what  she  saw,  and  reached  for  one  of  the  little  order 
blanks  on  a  shelf  near  by.  She  was  about  to  write 
something  under  the  boldly  printed  "  SELL  "  on  the 
slip,  when  Atherton  entered, 

The  strong  man  of  finance  was  most  fastidiously 
dressed  and  freshly  groomed;  even  his  daily  orchid 
had  been  chosen  with  lingering  care.  He  greeted  his 
beautiful  visitor  with  so  deferential  a  manner  that 
even  the  clerks  took  notice,  especially  as  one  of  them 
recognized  the  Countess  from  her  newspaper  por- 
trait. The  whisper  ran  around  the  room,  even  to  the 
other  feminine  "  clients,''  and  Agatha  was  at  once 
the  object  of  keen  scrutiny,  for  which  she  cared  not 
at  all.  The  days  of  the  blush  at  searching  glances 
were  long  since  passed, 

"  Ah,  my  dear  Countess,  I  am  indeed  charmed 
to  see  you.  I  trust  you  are  as  well  as  you  look  this 
morning,"  was  Atherton's  greeting,  to  which 
Agatha  replied  in  a  few  direct  words  and  with  no 
notice  whatever  of  the  broadly  implied  compliment. 

She  told  the  delighted  financier  that  she  had 
been  much  interested  in  his  conversation  of  the 
evening  before;  that  she  had  often  wished  to  learn 
something  of  stock  transactions  from  a  master  of 
the  subject.  She  even  confessed  to  having  taken 
a  few  little  "  flyers  "  since  her  arrival  in  New  York, 
which  had  resulted  rather  well.  To  the  blase  man 
of  the  world  she  seemed  almost  like  a  pretty  child 
rejoicing  over  a  new  toy, 

291 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  The  stock  market  is  so  much  more  exciting 
than  Monte  Carlo,"  she  exclaimed  with  enthusiasm* 
"  There  you  see  all  the  cards,  and  poof !  it's  all  over 
in  a  moment;  you're  happy  or  wretched,  and  that's 
an  end  to  it" 

"  But  at  Monte  Carlo  they  play  fair.  Here  in 
Wall  Street  the  cards  are  marked/'  he  said  signifi- 
cantly, leaning  toward  her  with  a  look  in  his  beady 
eyes  that  aroused  her  distrust  and  told  her  that  if 
she  were  to  use  him  as  a  pawn  in  her  match  with 
fate  she  must  make  her  moves  skillfully,  "but  I 
can  teach  you  to  play  the  game  in  safety." 

She  wondered  what  his  price  for  the  instruction 
might  be — she  knew  that  all  men  of  his  stamp  had 
a  price.  But  she  dismissed  the  thought  as  having* 
no  immediate  bearing  on  her  visit,  and  turned  again 
to  the  matter  in  hand. 

"  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Atherton.  But  you  were  talk- 
ing of  mining  stocks  last  night,  were  you  not? 
What  is  there  in  particular  that  you  can  recom- 
mend?" 

"  There  are  several,  Countess,"  he  replied^  lower- 
ing his  voice  almost  to  a  whisper,  "  but  the  best  of 
them  all,  the  king-pin  in  the  money  making  line,  is, 
in  my  opinion,  the  stock  of  the  '  United  Mines  Syn- 
dicate '." 

"  I  do  not  know  it." 

"  It  has  only  been  listed  a  few  days.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  it  is  not  a  mining  company  at  all,  but  an 
amalgamation  made  up  to  control  the  handling  of  a 
number  of  concerns  whose  stocks  are  now  active, 

292 


FOR  HIGH  STAKES 


such  as  '  Huronide,'  '  Gotham  and  Michigan,'  '  Don 
Quixote,'  '  Norumbega '  and  others  of  that  sort." 

"  But  not  one  of  those  stocks  is  paying  a  dividend 
now,  and  there  are  assessments  on  two  of  them," 
said  Agatha  quietly. 

The  broker  flushed  deeply,  and  into  his  little  eyes 
there  came  a  look  of  greater  respect  for  his  caller's 
calibre. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  it  is  not  a  question  of  get- 
ting dividend-payers,  or  even  of  escaping  assess- 
ments. The  simple  facts  are  that  we  have  consoli- 
dated those  stocks  under  one  management;  that 
many  of  the  stockholders  in  the  smaller  companies- 
have  handed  in  their  shares  for  exchange ;  that  there 
are,  however,  a  great  many  transactions  still  un- 
closed  " 

"  A  large  '  short '  interest,  you  mean?  " 

He  looked  at  her  with  ever  growing  wonderment. 
:'  Yes,  a  large  '  short '  interest  in  the  various  stocks. 
For  some  time  we  have  been  buying  in  all  these 
companies  through  a  varied  assortment  of  brokers  to 
avert  suspicion,  and  to-day  we  have  practically  a 
'  corner  '  in  every  one  of  them.  When  we  get  ready 
to  move  we  shall " 

"'Squeeze'  them?" 

"  Ah,  Countess,  you  are  superb !  We  shall  do 
more — we  shall  wring  them  by  the  neck  until  there  is 
not  a  drop  of  gold  left  in  their  wretched  bodies. 
How  ?  Very  simple.  When  the  '  shorts  '  find  that 
they  are  struggling  against  a  '  corner '  of  the  most 
unrelenting  sort,  we  shall  announce  that  shares  of 

293 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


the  '  United  Mines  Syndicate '  will  be  accepted  for 
delivery  in  place  of  Norumbega,  Huronide  or  what- 
ever the  stock  may  be.  Then  you  will  see  a  rush 
for  '  United  Mines '  such  as  Wall  Street  rarely 
knows,  and  we  who  hold  it  will  profit  by  hundreds 
of  thousands  of  dollars.  I  hold  success  in  my  very 
hand;  I  cannot  fail,"  he  said  solemnly. 

"  About  Mr.  Hamilton — you  said  that  was  the 
name  of  the  president,  I  believe?" 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,"  he  replied  cautiously,  al- 
though his  infatuation  was  now  complete,  "  Hamil- 
ton has  not  played  square  with  me  in  this  deal,  I'm 
afraid.  At  any  rate,  lie  lj  carrying  a  great  load 
just  now,  and  with  proper  manipulation,  he  might  be 
forced  out  of  the  '  United,' ' 

"  Beaten  at  his  own  game !  "  said  Agatha,  her  lips 
tightening, 

"  Exactly." 

They  talked  a  little  more  as  to  the  profits  that 
would  arise  from  the  coup,  and  then  Agatha  rose 
to  go. 

"  Well,  the  prospect  is  alluring,"  she  said,  "  per- 
haps I  may  invest  a  little  money  in  the  plan." 

At  that  moment  she  glanced  through  the  glass 
partition  and  noted  a  tall,  elegantly  dressed  man 
talking  with  one  of  the  clerks.  There  was  some- 
thing so  familiar  in  his  figure  and  bearing  that  she 
was  scarcely  surprised  when  he  turned  and  she  saw 
that  it  was  Guy  Hamilton.  She  crushed  down  a 
great  impulse  to  cry  out;  she  commanded  herself 
to  compose  her  face,  that  the  broker  standing  so 

294 


FOR  HIGH  STAKES 


close  to  her  should  not  read  the  secret  of  her  hate. 
She  turned  to  him  with  an  admirable  counterfeit 
of  nonchalance, 

"  I  really  must  be  going,"  she  said.  "  That  mining 
stock  you  speak  of — how  high  are  the  stakes  ?  " 

"  I  think  twenty-five  thousand  would  be  needed  if 
you  wish  for  large  returns." 

"  So  little  ?    Well,  you  may  depend  upon  me  " 

As  Atherton  returned  from  the  escorting  of  his 
fascinating  visitor  to  her  carriage,  his  joy  was  pro- 
found. For  her  money  he  cared  little;  it  was  the 
prospect  of  at  least  friendly  relations  with  her  dur- 
ing the  progress  of  the  coup,  the  assured  propinquity 
to  a  beautiful  woman,  that  intoxicated  his  material- 
istic soul.  Perhaps  he  might  even  win  her  love! 

Agatha  went  away  feeling  that  she  had  embarked 
on  a  dangerous  voyage,  in  the  course  of  which  she 
would  need  her  utmost  cleverness  and  self-posses- 
sion. More  money  than  she  now  had  would  also  be 
demanded,  but  this  she  had  good  reason  to  believe 
she  could  obtain;  her  ventures  in  the  market  thus 
far  had  been  very  successful,  and  she  followed  the 
ma-xims  of  Mrs.  Copeland  in  every  move  she  made. 

Just  how  she  should  proceed  against  Guy  Hamil- 
ton she  did  not  know,  but,  since  the  mention  of  his 
name  the  evening  before,  her  determination  that  in 
some  way  he  should  feel  the  blight  of  her  revenge 
had  been  intensified  to  the  proportions  of  mania. 
Cost  what  it  might  in  money  or  temporary  self- 
abasement,  she  would  bring  him  to  the  dust  in  which 
he  had  once  prostrated  her. 

295 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


She  lunched  at  Delmonico's,  and  was  then  driven 
back  to  Twenty-third  Street  to  do  some  shopping. 
There,  bethinking  herself  of  her  three  old  friends, 
she  dismissed  James  with  the  injunction  to  go  home 
and  see  if  they  had  returned;  if  they  had  not,  he 
was  to  sally  forth  to  the  lower  city  an?  get  upon 
their  trail  forthwith. 


296 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

A  SIGNAL  OF  DISTRESS 

THE  three  sailors,  after  leaving  the  shelter- 
ing walls  of  Agatha's  house,  hailed  one  of 
the  archaic  stages  which  were  still  plying 
on  Fifth  Avenue  and  began  their  rattling,  creakinr 
course  toward  the  Bowery.  The  motion,  not  so 
remote  from  that  of  a  ship  in  a  storm,  so  soothed 
the  mariners  that  they  failed  to  note  the  little  fare- 
box  in  front,  into  which  they  were  supposed  to  drop 
their  money,  and  were  equally  oblivious  to  the  re- 
peated ringing  of  the  impatient  driver. 

At  last  the  shabby  jehu  opened  a  tiny  trap-door 
near  his  seat  and  yelled  in  no  very  considerate 
tones : — 

"  Hey,  you  in  there;  ain't  you  never  goin'  to  pay 
your  fare  ?  " 

"  In  course  we  be,"  cried  Artemas  shrilly,  aroused 
at  this  imputation  against  his  comrades,  "  an'  ye 
needn't  be  so  consarned  peart  about  it,  nuther.  But 
whar's  yer  conductor,  or  whatever  ye  calls  him,  that 
takes  the  cash  ?  " 

"  Aw,  drop  it  into  the  box,  you,  you " 

The  driver's  voice  failed  him  through  sheer  dis- 
gust, and  he  thereafter  did  his  best  to  make  his  vehi- 

297 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


cle  jolt  and  sway,  all  ignorant  of  the  actual  satisfac- 
tion he  was  giving  to  his  queer  fares.  At  the  end 
of  the  stage  line  the  three  disembarked  and  stood  for 
a  moment  in  the  middle  of  the  sidewalk,  unmindful 
of  the  frowns  and  jibes  of  hurrying  pedestrians. 
They  were  in  a  quandary,  for  Artemas  showed 
signs  of  being  out  of  his  reckoning.  He  scratched 
his  head,  wet  his  finger  and  held  it  to  the  wind,  and 
looked  around  for  weathervanes. 

"  I  disremember  the  exact  chart,"  he  quavered, 
"but  the  course  should  be  about  east  by  sou'  east 
from  this  ere  squar'." 

"  Ask  somebody,"  growled  the  captain. 

"  What  ? "  squeaked  the  old  man  indignantly, 
"  me  a  sailor,  an'  ask  somebody  like  a  gol  darned 
landlubber.  I've  been  here  afore,  I  tells  yer.  Come 
along." 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  follow  Artemas's 
guidance,  and  they  proceeded  meekly  enough.  Af- 
ter hairbreadth  escapes  before  horses  and  street 
cars,  and  many  a  jostling  from  passers-by — for  they 
insisted  on  walking  three  abreast — they  actually  did 
reach  the  Bowery  of  Hank's  desire,  as  the  lampposts 
and  other  signs  gave  conclusive  evidence.  Artemas 
was  radiant  with  triumph. 

"  Now  messmates,"  he  exclaimed,  "  will  yer  say 
I  didn't  know  the  sailin'  round  York?" 

"  No,  no,  Artemas,"  returned  Hank  soothingly, 
"  ye've  done  a  great  crick  at  the  wheel ;  we  thanks 
yer  hearty."  And  he  shook  the  old  fellow  by  the 
hand  with  dignified  approval. 

The  musketeers'  voyage  down  the  famous  thor- 
298 


A  SIGNAL  OF  DISTRESS 

oughfare  was  a  memorable  one.  Their  quaint  dress, 
their  odd  faces,  their  unmistakable  air  of  innocence 
of  urban  customs,  marked  them  as  fair  game  for 
the  street  arabs  who  followed  along  in  their  wake, 
shouting  stanzas  of  comic  songs  deemed  applicable 
to  the  trio,  and  asking  questions  not  always  delicate 
in  intent. 

Once  a  flashy  individual  with  a  deeply  belled  silk 
hat  and  a  fierce  black  moustache  rushed  up  to  Sykes 
with  an  air  of  the  utmost  gratification,  and  seized 
his  hand  cordially. 

"  Ah,  is  this — can  it  be  my  old  farmer  f i  iend, 
Ephraim  Tucker,  of  Newcastle,  New  Jersey?  Don't 
remember  me,  eh?  But  how  should  you?  I  was 
a  mere  boy  when " 

"  Yer  off'n  yer  course,  shipmate,"  replied  the  cap- 
tain jovially,  rather  pitying  the  genial  stranger's 
disappointment.  "  Fer  I  ain't  Ephraim  Tucker,  nor 
I  ain't  never  clapped  my  binnacles  on  Newcastle, 
New  Jersey;  whiles  as  fer  farmin',  Lord  love  ye,  I 
don't  know  a  rake  from  a  corncob.  My  name's " 

At  this  interesting  moment  a  policeman  sauntered 
toward  the  three  explorers,  and  the  cordial  man 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  an  important  engagement, 
for  he  dropped  S'ykes's  hand  as  if  it  were  fire,  and 
hurried  around  the  corner  without  ceremony. 

"  Hey,  you  fellers,"  said  the  officer  brusquely, 
"  want  to  separate  yourselves  from  all  the  money 
you've  got  ?  Know  who  that  man  is  ?  " 

Hank  paled,  Artemas  shivered  and  Sykes  clutched 
his  wallet  tenaciously. 

"  No,"  they  answered  in  unison. 
299 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  Well,  old  chaps,  that's  '  Handsome  Joe/  the 
slickest  bunco-steerer  in  New  York  City." 

A  cunning  look  came  into  Artemas's  deep-set  eyes. 
Here  was  a  trick  of  some  sort,  a  mean  attempt  to 
discredit  the  genial  stranger. 

"  No  siree,  he  ain't  no  steerer  of  no  sort ;  he  ain't 
never  had  his  hand  on  a  tiller  or  a  wheel  in  his  life; 
I  kin  tell  by  the  cut  o'  his  jib.  Ye  don't  come  thet 
on  us,  not  by  a  long  shot." 

"  Oh,  well,  just  as  you  please,  old  'un,"  returned 
the  bluecoat.  "  I  wash  my  hands  of  you,  that's  all." 

Yet  on  the  whole  the  three  friends  had  a  very 
pleasant  forenoon  on  the  Bowery,  and  had  the  sat- 
isfaction of  seeing  that  they  created  something  of 
a  sensation.  They  feasted  on  peanuts  and  bananas; 
they  were  weighed  on  dial-machines;  they  blew  into 
a  lung  tester,  which  Sykes  almost  ruined  with  a  tre- 
mendous puff;  they  lunched  royally  at  a  dime  res- 
taurant on  baked  beans  and  griddle  cakes ;  they  then 
found  a  row  of  comfortable  chairs  under  an  awning, 
into  which  they  climbed  to  smoke  their  pipes,  only 
to  discover  that  it  was  a  bootblacking  establish- 
ment, and  that  they  must  submit  to  and  pay  for  a 
polishing,  and  finally  they  trudged  along  to  find  a 
theatre,  that  ultima  thule  of  all  provincial  visitors 
to  the  great  city. 

The  "  Pan-Olympian "  pleased  their  fastidious 
tastes,  because  its  exterior  was  very  red  and  very 
yellow,  and  brilliant  posters  promised  excellent  en- 
tertainment within.  The  prices  of  tickets  were  ten, 
twenty  and  thirty  cents,  and  as  Hank  insisted  that 
the  best  was  not  a  bit  too  good,  they  soon  found 


A  SIGNAL  OF  DISTRESS 

themselves    in    orchestra    seats    well    toward    the 
stage. 

The  piece  that  afternoon  was  a  melodrama  of  the 
fine  old  sort  in  which  villainy  runs  rampant  for  four 
acts,  only  to  be  crushed  to  earth  with  a  tremendous 
thud  in  the  fifth.  To  the  simple  old  salts,  no  one 
of  whom  had  ever  been  in  a  playhouse  before,  the 
mimic  scenes  were  intensely  real.  The  harrowing 
sufferings  of  the  heroine  stirred  their  manly  hearts 
to  pity,  and  they  moved  uneasily  in  their  seats  as  woe 
was  piled  upon  anguish  and  horror  upon  both. 

At  last  came  one  of  the  most  widely  advertised 
scenes  in  the  play ;  the  villain  was  to  seize  the  heroine 
by  the  hair  and  drag  her  about  the  stage,  laughing 
in  fiendish  glee.  The  lovely  girl  was  prone  upon  the 
floor  and  the  evil  gentleman  had  grasped  her  tresses 
preparatory  to  the  great  feat  of  realism,  when  Sykes, 
unable  to  control  himself,  arose  in  his  seat  and  shook 
his  huge  fist  at  the  actor. 

"  Avast  thar,"  he  roared  angrily,  "  let  that  thar 
gal  alone,  ye  consarned  sculpin,  or  I'll " 

The  house  was  in  an  uproar  in  a  moment.  Jeers, 
whistles,  cat-calls  and  cries  of  "  sit  down "  and 
"  put  him  out  "  made  a  bedlam  of  the  place.  There 
were  shouts  of  laughter,  too,  for  many  thought  the 
interruption  a  clever  trick  of  the  management,  and 
expressed  their  approval  of  the  captain's  "  make- 
up." But  he,  nothing  daunted,  his  chivalrous  soul 
thinking  only  of  duty  to  be  performed,  started  down 
the  aisle  on  the  work  of  rescue. 

"  Come  back,  ye  gol  darned  fool,"  piped  Artemas, 
"  don't  ye  know  it's  only  actin'  out?*' 

301 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


Sykes  would  have  climbed  upon  the  stage,  but  that 
two  burly  attaches  of  the  theatre  seized  him  forth- 
with. Then  Hank  and  Artemas,  rushing  to  his  aid, 
were  also  made  prisoners,  and  the  whole  party  was 
dragged  to  the  sidewalk,  and  a  policeman  sum- 
moned. 

"  Well,  by  cracky,"  exclaimed  that  functionary  in 
astonishment,  as  he  surveyed  the  rueful  trio.  "  If 
here  ain't  the  old  'uns  I  warned  about  '  Handsome 
Joe/  Disturbin'  the  peace,  eh?  I'm  afraid  I'll  have 
to  run  you  in,  my  ancient  friends."  And  he  stepped 
to  a  signal  box  on  a  lamppost,  opened  it  and  said 
something  into  a  telephone.  In  a  few  minutes  a 
long,  covered  wagon  drawn  by  a  fat  and  lazy  horse, 
and  carrying  a  couple  of  additional  officers,  heaved 
in  sight.  It  backed  up  against  the  curb  for  its  pas- 
sengers. 

"  Now  then,  you're  goin'  to  have  a  nice  ride  at 
the  city's  expense,"  chuckled  the  policeman.  "  Get 
in." 

The  poor,  bewildered  mariners  were  about  to 
obey,  when  suddenly  there  broke  through  the  dense 
crowd  of  curiosity  seekers  the  figure  of  James  An- 
derson, who  had  had  no  difficulty  in  following  their 
trail  through  the  Bowery. 

No  vessel  bearing  down  upon  shipwrecked  sailors 
on  a  raft  was  ever  a  more  welcome  sight  than  was 
the  well-known  face  to  the  beleaguered  men.  An- 
derson quickly  became  informed  of  the  situation, 
and  he  went  at  once  to  the  proprietor  of  the  theatre. 
That  gentleman  came  forward  with  apologies,  and 
requested  the  release  of  the  prisoners;  and  as  James 

302 


A  SIGNAL  OF  DISTRESS 

supplemented  this  with  a  certain  transaction  of 
hands,  the  tars  were  set  free.  A  cab  was  called,  and 
Anderson  bundled  the  old  fellows  into  it. 

"  Number  Fifth  Avenue,"  he  directed  the 

driver. 

"  Must  be  a  museum,"  jeered  somebody  in  the 
crowd,  and  the  others  set  up  a  shout  as  the  vehicle 
rolled  away. 

It  so  happened  that  one  of  the  spectators  of  the 
discomfiture  and  rescue  of  the  three  was  another 
Old  Chetford  man  of  former  days,  Guy  Hamilton, 
who  had  been  called  into  the  district  by  his  desire 
to  see  a  certain  lawyer  of  rather  shady  reputation. 
Noting  the  tumult,  he  had  joined  the  crowd  in  idle 
fashion,  and  had  been  startled  to  see  James  Ander- 
son and  the  three  sailors.  All  the  bitter  hatred  he 
bore  the  man  who  had  once  struck  him  was  over- 
mastered by  curiosity,  and  he  went  as  near  as  possi- 
ble without  detection  to  the  centre  of  disturbance. 

He  heard  Hank  say  something  about  Agatha's 
probable  displeasure  and  he  caught  the  number  given 
by  Anderson  to  the  driver.  There  was  no  doubt 
about  it — she  was  in  New  York,  and  living  in  an 
aristocratic  quarter.  With  characteristic  reasoning 
he  jumped  at  the  conclusion  that  she  was  spending 
what  remained  of  the  Copeland  money  in  a  life  of 
gaiety.  Further  particulars  he  must  have,  and  he 
forthwith  employed  the  Bowery  lawyer,  who  was 
not  above  playing  detective  for  a  consideration,  to 
investigate  for  him.  The  old  spirit  moved  within 
him,  and  he  determined  to  renew  the  acquaintance 
with  Agatha  if  there  were  any  possible  way  to  do  so. 

303 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


The  musketeers  had  had  enough  of  life  in  the 
metropolis,  and  on  the  following  day  they  took  the 
boat  for  Fall  River.  Not  one  of  them  could  be 
persuaded  to  go  by  train,  if  a  boat  could  be  found 
to  take  them. 

"  Them  pesky  trains  are  so  dangerous,"  declared 
Sykes,  the  hero  of  more  thrilling  escapes  from  perils 
of  the  sea  than  any  man  in  Old  Chetford. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE  SKIRMISH   LINE 

WITHIN  the  next  fortnight   Ralph  Hard- 
ing saw  many  things  in  the  brown-stone 
house  that  convinced  him  that  a  critical 
mental  and  spiritual  crisis  was  near  at  hand  in  the 
life  of  the  woman  he  had  vowed  to  save  from  her- 
self.     From   the   reports   of   James   Anderson   he 
learned  more. 

The  honest  coachman  and  guardian  of  his  mis- 
tress's outward  welfare  used  to  make  pleasant  little 
pilgrimages  down  to  Harding's  lodgings,  and  there, 
through  the  persuasive  aid  of  pipes,  they  would  sit 
and  plan  bright  things  for  Agatha,  one  of  them,  at 
least,  dreading  that  they  might  never  come  to  pass. 
Harding  could  not  feel  that  he  was  breaking  the 
proprieties  in  any  sense  by  this  familiarity  with  a 
servant,  for  Anderson's  long  service,  absolute  loyalty 
and  keen  penetration  raised  him  to  the  position  of 
confidential  friend.  So  the  two  who  loved  Agatha, 
each  in  his  own  fashion,  talked  of  her  as  if  she  were 
a  girl,  whose  interests  were  in  their  keeping. 

One  evening  Anderson  came  with  curious  news. 
Three  days  before,  -he  said,  a  lot  of  workmen  had 
arrived  with  wire  and  some  strange-looking  ma- 
chines, which  they  had  taken  to  the  library.  Other 

305 


MISS  PETTICOATS 

laborers  had  performed  some  mysterious  operations 
on  the  roof,  and  since  then  the  library  had  been  kept 
locked,  and  his  mistress  had  spent  most  of  her  day- 
times inside.  All  he  could  tell  was  that  a  peculiar 
clicking,  "  like  the  sound  of  a  horse  champing  a  bit  " 
could  be  heard  faintly  from  the  hall. 

The  minister  knew  from  experience  that  Agatha's 
evenings  "-rere  more  than  ever  given  up  to  social 
gaieties.  He  rarely  mingled  in  them,  although  in- 
vited cordially  enough,  for  he  felt  that  he  did  not 
speak  the  language  of  the  flippant  and  artificial  set 
by  which  she  was  surrounded.  And  then  came  the 
old,  old  question :  to  what  extent  did  the  girl's  soul 
actually  participate  in  this  existence?  Was  she 
merely  a  chameleon,  changing-  color  with  each  set 
of  surroundings,  or  would  she  at  last  become  per- 
manently tinged  with  frivolity  from  being  a  part 
of  it  so  long?  Although  he  still  believed  in  her 
nobility  of  nature,  he  sighed  at  the  difficulty  of  the 
problem. 

But  to  Harding  the  real,  the  hideous  menace  to 
Agatha's  happiness  wa:  '.he  continued  presence  of 
Atherton  in  her  house.  He  now  knew  the  ante- 
cedents of  that  sleek  sensualist,  knew  his  disregard 
for  the  honor  of  womankind,  and  to  learn  that  he 
was  a  favored  visitor,  as  well  as  the  girl's  escort  to 
places  of  amusement,  was  as  of  the  bitterness  of 
gall  to  the  minister's  highly  organized  nature. 

With  all  his  indignation,  however,  Harding  felt 
that  neither  he  nor  the  world  knew  the  truth  that 
must  be  behind  Agatha's  apparent  preference  for  the 
financier.  Best  of  all  men  living,  he  thought,  he 

306 


THE  SKIRMISH  LINE 

understood  her  nature;  it  was  preposterous  to  believe 
that  she  could  feel  any  sympathy  with  a  man  of 
Atherton's  stamp.  Nor  was  it  possible  to  deceive 
her  now,  as  in  the  days  of  Guy  Hamilton.  But 
here  was  the  fact  of  favors  bestowed,  and  it  haunted 
him. 

After  considerable  of  this  self-communion  he 
suddenly  grew  disgusted  with  himself  and  his 
"  moonings,"  as  he  termed  them.  Was  he  to  think 
and  dream  and  hope  forever,  and  do  nothing? 
Where  was  his  reputation  as  a  practical  man?.  He 
had  won  many  another  from  a  dangerous  road,  and 
why  should  he  shrink  now  because  it  was  the  woman 
he  loved  who  needed  help?  He  determined  to  take 
the  initiative  boldly,  and  try  to  interest  her  in  other 
directions — perhaps  in  some  plan  of  his  own — and  at 
leas';  distract  her  impressionable  nature  from  its 
morbidness.  He  would  go  to  her  at  once.  And 
with  that  decision  a  bit  of  sunlight  seemed  already 
to  cut  into  the  gloom. 

Almost  at  that  very  moment  Agatha  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  deep  discussion  with  Atherton  in  her 
library.  The  broker's  little  eyes  shone  with  a  satis- 
faction not  wholly  derived  from  the  matter  they 
were  outlining.  His  friends  who  declared  that  he 
never  mixed  business  and  pleasure  did  not  know 
their  man;  they  had  been  right  simply  because  he 
had  never  before  met  c.  business  woman  who  was 
also  alluringly  feminine.  The  Countess  talked  of 
stocks  like  an  intelligent  man,  and  his  commercial 
ear  heard  her  with  respect;  she  breathed  adorable 
womanly  charm,  and  he  drank  that  in  with  the  thirst 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


of  the  senses.  Had  Agatha  chosen  to  be  Delilah, 
she  could  have  shorn  this  financial  Samson  without 
a  protest  on  his  part. 

"  So  you  think  the  situation  in  '  United  Mines ' 
is  favorable  to  us,  do  you,  Mr.  Atherton?"  asked 
Agatha. 

"  As  favorable  as  I  am  able  to  make  it,"  he  re- 
plied. "  But  I  will  be  frank  with  you,  and  tell  you 
that  I  have  not  quite  a  controlling  interest  in  it. 
We  let  more  of  the  stock  slip  into  the  market  than 
we  intended,  and  somebody  is  holding  on  like  grim 
death.  If  I  only  knew  for  a  surety  what  Hamilton 
holds,  I  would  be  better  satisfied.  Of  course  he  and 
I  could  combine,  and  do  as  we  chose  with  the  com- 
pany; but  if  he  should  get  offish  and  unite  his  big 
holdings  with  others,  they  could — well,  they  could 
make  it  unpleasant  for  me.  But  I  don't  think  that 
can  happen;  I  don't  see  how  he  can  get  control 
without  my  knowing  it." 

"  Then  if  one  could  gain  the  confidence  of  this — 
Mr.  Hamilton,  and  find  out  just  what  he  owns  of 
the  '  United  Mines  '  stock " 

"  It  might  make  a  very  great  difference  to  me 
and  to  you,"  he  replied.  "  If  he  has  not  got  control, 
we  can  beat  him  by  buying  the  outstanding  stock 
at  any  price,  and  then  vote  that  exchange  with  the 
*  shorts '  I  spoke  to  you  about.  If  he  has,  we  are 
at  his  mercy  so  far  as  this  deal  is  concerned,  be- 
cause he  could  then  go  over  to  the  enemy,  compel 
the  company  to  abandon  my  plan,  and  make  a 
barrel  of  money  by  going  short  on  the  stocks  of 
the  amalgamated  companies.  He  would  beat  the 

308 


THE  SKIRMISH  LINE 


'corner/  and  you  and  I  would  fail  to  get  our  profits. 
The  great  question  is  how  he  stands  on  '  United 
Mines.'  He  says  he  has  not  got  control;  I  don't 
believe  him,  somehow.  I  wish  I  knew." 

"  Perhaps  I  can  find  out." 

"You?"  he  asked  wonderingly. 

"  Yes — that  is,  I — I  think  I  may  be  able  to  as- 
certain." 

"  But  you  don't  know  Hamilton." 

"  There  are  many  ways  in  which  one  can  get  in- 
formation in  the  market,"  she  returned. 

"  If  we  can  find  out  positively  how  Hamilton  is 
situated  in  the  matter,"  said  Atherton,  "  all  will  be 
clear  sailing." 

The  broker  departed  a  little  later  on  excellent 
terms  with  himself.  Not  only  had  he  apparently 
become  a  needful  element  in  this  attractive  woman's 
life,  but  he  was  in  a  fair  way  to  have  the  whip- 
hand  over  Hamilton.  As  for  Agatha's  financial  in- 
terest in  the  "  United  Mines "  scheme,  that  was 
bound  to  turn  out  to  his  advantage,  he  thought, 
whichever  way  it  resulted.  If  he  and  Agatha  won, 
he  would  reap  the  reward  of  her  gratitude;  if  they 
lost,  she  might  need  his  help  financially,  and  that 
he  would  pour  out  lavishly.  But  he  would  win; 
the  dice  were  loaded;  he  was  victor  even  before 
the  cast. 

Coming  down  the  steps  he  met  Harding.  He 
bowed  graciously,  showing  his  white  teeth  with  a 
sinister  smile.  He  had  at  first  feared  the  "  parson," 
but  of  late  had  seen  so  little  of  him  at  the  house 
as  to  drop  him  from  consideration.  He  could  afford, 

309 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


therefore,  to  be  magnanimous.  The  minister 
nodded  stiffly;  he  would  not  play  a  part  with  such 
a  man. 

Harding  was  told  by  a  servant  that  the  Countess 
would  see  him  in  the  library.  There  he  found  her 
at  a  desk  in  a  maze  of  papers,  pamphlets,  reports, 
balance-sheets  and  yellow  tissues.  A  "  ticker  "  at 
her  right  side  was  tapping  out  its  monotonous  song, 
and  a  beautiful  desk-telephone  was  within  easy  reach 
of  her  left  hand.  She  turned  with  a  bright  smile. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Harding,"  she  said. 
"  You  have  not  been  any  too  sociable  of  late.  Are 
you,  too,  busy — as  I  am  ?  "  and  she  drew  his  atten- 
tion to  the  financial  paraphernalia  with  a  compre- 
hensive sweep  of  her  pretty  hand. 

"  Yes,  Agatha,  very  busy.  But  not,  I  fancy, 
in  a  very  profitable  way  pecuniarily.  Your  occupa- 
tion, I  suppose,  is  more  to  the  point  in  dollars  and 
cents,"  he  said  quizzically,  tapping  the  tape-basket 
as  he  spoke. 

"  I  told  you  once  that  I  should  get  money,"  she 
retorted.  "  Well — I  am  getting  it.  Is  there  any 
harm  in  that?" 

"  No  harm  in  itself,  Agatha,  perhaps,  but  do 
you  ever  think  of  the  result  of  continued  gambling 
on  a  nature  like  yours?  Don't  you  fear  the  effect 
of  the  tense  excitement  of  the  robber  game  of  stocks, 
the  devil-take-the-hindmost  spirit  that  actuates 
every  deal  in  the  market?  Can  you  play  with  fire 
and  not  be  burned?  Can  you  live  in  the  malarial 
belt  of  Wall  Street,  and  not  catch  the  fever  ?  I  would 

310 


THE  SKIRMISH  LINE 

rather  see  you  the  poorest  of  the  poor  than  to  have 
you  dragged  down  to  spiritual  ruin  by  the  weight 
of  gold  thus  obtained." 

The  girl  flushed,  and  her  eyes  glinted  with  resent- 
ment. What  right  had  this  man,  old  friend  though 
he  were,  to  talk  to  her  thus,  to  assume  proprietorship 
over  her  affairs,  to  try  to  block  the  course  of  her 
righteous  resolve?  Far  away  in  the  shade  other 
figures  were  calling  for  vengeance;  their  thin  and 
eerie  voices  were  more  powerful  than  even  the  mu- 
sical tones  of  this  earnest,  virile  helper  of  souls. 

"  I  am  grateful — I  have  always  been  grateful  to 
you,  Mr.  Harding,"  she  said,  "  for  your  kindly  in- 
terest in  me.  But  now  that  I  am  a  woman  I 
must  help  myself.  I  have  a  work  to  do — you  know 
how  sacred  a  work.  I  am  doing  it  by  the  only 
means  possible.  I  have  no  fear  for  myself." 

"But  your  happiness,  Agatha?" 

She  looked  at  him  almost  scornfully. 

"  Long  ago  I  said  that  when  I  had  achieved  for- 
tune and  social  position,  I  should  have  too  much 
to  do  to  think  of  trying  to  be  happy.  It  has  come 
true." 

"  Ah,  but  this  exacting  life  of  yours — you  look 
weary." 

She  laughed,  but  not  with  the  merriment  of  old 
days. 

"  I  never  felt  better.  I  need  work,  and  more 
work,  and  still  more  work !  " 

"  Then,  Agatha,  listen.  If  you  need  something 
more  than  you  get  from  your  society  life  and  your 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


finance — and  God  knows  I  believe  you  ought  to 
have  it — why  cannot  you  spare  some  of  your  time 
to  me,  to  the  things  I  am  trying  to  do  to  make  mis- 
erable hearts  a  little  less  wretched?  I  know  of 
some  strange  cases  of  suffering  just  now  for  which 
a  woman's  hand  is  needed.  Can  you  help  ?  " 

All  her  feminine  sympathy  came  to  the  surface  at 
his  earnest  words  and  the  expression  on  his  fine, 
pleading  face.  For  the  first  time  in  years  she 
thought  of  the  past  without  bitterness,  of  the  old 
days  in  the  Copeland  house  before  sorrow  had 
withered  a  single  petal  of  the  roses  in  her  spring 
garden  of  happiness. 

"  In  years  gone  by,"  she  said  very  slowly  and 
tenderly,  "  you  were  kind  enough  to  devote  a  part 
of  two  days  each  week  to  my  education  and  culture ; 
I  will  give  two  afternoons  a  week  to  you  and  your 
interests." 

After  Harding  had  gone,  his  heart  full  of  thanks- 
giving, Agatha  turned  to  her  "  ticker "  and  her 
telephone.  She  called  up  a  great  many  numbers 
which  financial  experts  would  have  recognized  as  ap- 
pertaining to  brokers'  offices,  and  to  each  answering 
voice  she  gave  orders  about  like  this : — 

"  Buy  '  Huronide,'  '  Gotham  and  Michigan/ 
'  Don  Quixote/  '  Norumbega  '  and  '  Cross-Cut '  at 
the  market.  Buy  all  you  can  get,  but  in  small  lots. 
Keep  the  prices  down  if  possible." 

Then  she  began  writing  hurriedly,  and  for  a  long 
time  her  pen  kept  pace  with  the  clack  of  the  "  ticker." 
At  last  she  threw  it  down  wearily. 

312 


THE  SKIRMISH  LINE 


"  Heigho,"  she  sighed,  "  I  shall  be  glad  when 
three  o'clock  comes.  Then  I  shall  be  free  from  the 
necessity  of  watching  you,  you  old  monster,"  and 
she  shook  her  small  fist  in  mock  anger  at  the  garru- 
lous machine  at  her  side. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

AN    AMBUSCADE 

FROM  afar-off  Guy  Hamilton  heard  enough 
of  Agatha  Renier's  beauty,  brilliancy  and 
charm  to  make  him  thirst  like  a  traveler  in 
the  desert  at  the  sight  of  an  oasis  of  blue  waters 
and  green  trees.  Mirage  or  not  he  did  not  know, 
nor  did  he  stop  to  think.  Only  he  was  certain,  from 
what  his  lawyer-detective  had  gleaned,  and  from 
the  newspaper  accounts  of  the  Countess's  victorious 
passage  through  the  social  "  forbidden  country," 
that  the  once  fascinating  girl  had  become  a  magnet 
that  seemed  to  draw  him  ever  forward — perhaps  the 
more  irresistibly  because  its  power  was  unseen.  It 
was  that  infatuation  of  memory  which  often  casts  a 
tinge  of  glory  about  its  object,  strengthened  by  the 
half-jealousy  that  shakes  a  man  of  strong  passions 
at  the  thought  that  a  woman  once  almost  his  own 
is  kept  from  him  by  a  strong  guard  of  other 
courtiers. 

He  heard  of  Atherton's  apparent  supremacy  in  the 
Fifth  Avenue  house  and  a  bitter  hatred  filled  his 
heart.  That  his  financial  chief — or,  at  least,  one 
who  deemed  himself  so — should  be  in  the  place  he 
ought  to  occupy  at  the  side  of  a  beautiful  girl,  was 
an  added  blow  of  fate. 


AN  AMBUSCADE 


But  the  past!  Despite  his  attempts  to  placate 
conscience  with  the  theory  that  he  had  been  the 
victim  of  circumstance,  he  knew  that  Agatha  had  a 
clear  and  tenacious  memory.  A  woman  will  forget 
a  wrong  when  she  feels  that  a  man  can  right  it  by 
allowing  her  to  love  him;  but  here  there  was  no 
opportunity  even  for  attempting  such  reinstatement. 
He  believed  that  should  he  go  to  her  house  in  a  des- 
perate attempt  to  see  her,  she  would  have  him  thrust 
out  of  doors  like  some  importunate  and  unworthy 
beggar. 

He  racked  his  brain  to  find  something  that  would 
make  a  visit  even  plausible,  but  all  his  ingenuity 
stopped  short,  and  he  cursed  his  impotence  to  devise 
a  plan. 

Time  was  when  he  would  have  turned  from  his 
perplexity  to  the  reassuring  spirit  of  drink,  but  for 
three  years  he  had  kept  his  old  enemy  almost  com- 
pletely under  subjection.  His  reentrance  into  the 
field  of  speculation  after  the  Waterloo  which  re- 
sulted in  his  becoming  a  forger,  had  opened  his 
eyes  to  one  important  fact :  iron  nerves  were  needed 
for  the  successful  playing  of  the  great  game  of 
Wall  Street;  it  was  a  question  under  which  king  he 
should  serve,  Alcohol  or  Mammon,  and  he  chose 
the  latter.  Then,  too,  his  peculiar  nature  found  in 
the  excitement  of  the  market  a  substitute  for  the 
artificial  stimulus  of  liquor.  Even  in  the  days  at 
Old  Chetford,  when  he  had  drunk  heavily,  it  had 
been  for  a  mental  result,  never  from  a  physical  cause. 

Fate's  favorites  are  very  often  the  unworthy,  and 
Hamilton  had  prospered  from  the  first  day  of  his 

315 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


rehabiliment.  As  his  associate  Atherton  had  said, 
he  had  become  in  less  than  two  years  one  of  the  luck- 
iest as  well  as  the  most  unscrupulous  of  plungers. 
He  was  always  up  to  his  ears  in  heavy  obligations 
which  the  least  breeze  of  misfortune  would  have 
raised  above  his  head.  But  at  every  critical  point 
something  would  occur  to  his  advantage,  and  he 
would  emerge  triumphant  and  money-laden.  As  a 
result  he  had  come  to  have  a  Napoleonic  faith  in 
his  luck. 

All  this  applied  to  the  playing  of  the  game  of 
gold;  but  a  new  interest  had  arisen,  and  he  felt  the 
full  force  of  the  old  adage :  "  Lucky  at  cards,  un- 
lucky in  love."  Yes,  he  was  willing  to  call  it  love 
now,  foolish  as  it  seemed  in  a  man  who  scarcely 
knew  whom  he  was  worshipping. 

He  finally  worked  himself  into  an  intensely  nerv- 
ous and  unstrung  condition.  One  night  he  paced 
back  and  forth  for  a  long  time  opposite  Agatha's 
house.  He  saw  a  carriage,  with  James  Anderson 
on  the  box  beside  the  driver,  draw  up  to  the  fine 
front  and  discharge  a  passenger.  He  hurried  away 
without  another  look,  for  he  could  not  yet  nerve 
himself  to  see  the  woman  of  his  dreams,  even  at  a 
distance.  He  cursed  himself  for  his  cowardice,  yet 
seemed  to  be  a  toy  in  the  hand  of  destiny. 

But  at  last  the  inevitable  sight  of  her  came.  She 
stepped  from  her  brougham  at  Sherry's  one  after- 
noon just  as  he  passed  on  the  other  side.  She  did 
not  see  him,  but  he  had  a  full,  though  fleeting,  look 
at  the  beautiful,  changed  face,  and  it  made  his  in- 
fatuation complete.  It  was  the  Agatha  of  every 

316 


AN  AMBUSCADE 


roseate  vision,  yet  with  something  more  compelling 
than  he  could  have  imagined. 

That  night  he  slept  little.  It  terrified  him,  almost, 
to  think  that  the  Agatha  Renier  whom  his  aunt  had 
befriended  in  her  pretty  poverty,  and  whom  he  had 
insulted  in  his  drink-fanned  passion,  had  become 
this  radiant  woman,  courted  for  her  beauty  and  ad- 
mired for  her  intellect. 

Through  his  excited  brain  there  rolled  the  pictures 
of  the  days  when  she,  a  simple  child,  would  hang 
upon  his  elaborate  stories  of  what  had  occurred  in 
"  society  " — the  society  of  Old  Chetford,  he  thought 
with  a  smile — and  he  would  encourage  her  and  tell 
her  that  she  was  worthy  to  take  her  place  anywhere. 
What  a  fulfilment  of  his  prophecy!  But  what  grim 
satire  in  it  all! 

Once  he  conceived  the  idea  of  writing  to  her,  and 
actually  began  two  or  three  letters.  He  almost  per- 
suaded himself  that  he  had  a  reasonable  excuse  for 
communicating  with  her.  When  he  had  begun  to 
make  money  in  the  market  one  of  his  first  acts  had 
been  to  send  his  aunt  a  draft  for  $5,000  with  ac- 
crued interest,  to  cover  the  amount  of  which  he  had 
robbed  her  by  his  forgery.  The  letter  had  come  back 
unopened  to  his  address  as  printed  on  the  envelope. 
He  had  retained  it  and  its  contents  intact,  through 
some  impulse  of  self-reproach  that  he  himself  did 
not  fully  understand.  He  thought  of  making  this 
letter  a  peg  upon  which  to  hang  a  note  to  Agatha,  but 
upon  reflection  it  seemed  too  slender. 

Several  weeks  passed  by,  and  then  Guy  Hamilton 
met  the  Countess  Fornay  face  to  face.  It  was  at  a 

317 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


reception  given  by  the  French  consul,  a  volatile 
gentleman  who  added  charm  and  variety  to  his 
official  life  by  a  considerable  dabbling  in  stocks.  He 
had  profited  by  some  of  Guy's  deals,  and  looked  up  to 
him  as  a  veritable  giant  of  the  market,  to  whom 
now,  for  the  first  time,  he  was  glad  to  pay  social 
attention. 

Hamilton  was  talking  to  his  host,  an  animated 
little  replica  of  the  Third  Napoleon,  when  he  saw 
Agatha  approaching  with  the  consul's  wife.  He 
would  have  fled  incontinently,  but  his  muscles 
seemed  to  defy  his  will. 

"  Ccuntess,  allow  me  to  present  to  you  one  of  our 
Wall  Street  friends,  Mr.  Guy  Hamilton;  Mr.  Ham- 
ilton, this  is  the  Countess  Fornay." 

Guy  stared  straight  ahead,  his  eyes  fixed  stupidly 
on  a  marble  bust  of  Pandora  at  the  end  of  the  room. 
He  even  wondered  if,  among  all  the  woes  set  free  by 
the  mythical  girl,  there  were  any  like  retribution 
come  home  at  last.  Then  her  words,  clear  and  beau- 
tifully modulated  in  the  well-remembered  contralto 
voice,  struck  upon  his  ear  like  an  awakening  bell. 

"  Mr.  Hamilton  and  I  have  met  before,  in  my 
early  days,"  she  said. 

"  Ah,"  returned  their  hostess,  "  then  you  will 
wish  to  talk  over  the  old  times;  I  will  leave  you." 

They  stood  facing  one  another  in  silent  thought 
for  a  moment.  He  felt  that  it  was  incumbent  upon 
him  to  speak,  but  knew  not  what  to  say.  She 
clenched  her  fingers  with  such  savagery  that  the 
marks  in  her  palms  were  visible  for  days.  The  fate 
in  which  she  trusted  had  brought  this  meeting, 


AN  AMBUSCADE 


which  she  had  believed  inevitable;  but  now  that  it 
was  here  she  found  it  difficult  to  enact  the  role  she 
had  so  often  rehearsed.  By  a  supreme  effort  she 
steeled  herself  to  play  her  part. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Hamilton,  Madame  Bouvet  will 
scarcely  believe  we  have  met  before,"  she  said  coldly. 

"  I — I — didn't  expect  to  see  you  here,"  stam- 
mered the  man. 

"  Oh,  the  Bouvets  are  very  dear  friends  of  mine. 
They  were  kind  to  me  in  Paris,  and  I  could  not  fail 
to  be  present  at  an  affair  in  which  they  have  so 
much  pride." 

The  unreality  of  the  meeting  was  intensified  for 
Guy  by  the  calmly  conventional  tones  of  Agatha's 
speech.  Remembering  their  last  words  years  ago 
he  wondered  what  had  happened  to  make  this  emo- 
tionless conversation  possible. 

"Are  not  the  decorations  superb?"  she  asked. 
"  Let  us  walk  about  a  bit,  and  see  them." 

Like  a  man  in  a  dream  he  went  by  her  side  through 
the  handsome  rooms,  noting  with  a  pang  the  count- 
less salutations  she  received,  the  eagerness  of  many 
to  pay  her  attention.  He  wondered  if  this  very 
change  in  her  life  might  not  furnish  the  key  to  the 
alteration  of  her  sentiments  toward  him;  perhaps 
the'  new  conditions,  the  complete  knowledge  of  the 
world,  had  thrust  out  the  old  bitterness  from  her 
mind. 

This  theory  at  last  took  complete  possession  of 
him,  and,  after  he  was  separated  from  her  by  one 
of  those  kaleidoscopic  changes  best  known  to  social 
functions,  and  had  time  to  muse  in  an  obscure  cor- 

319 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


ner,  his  satisfaction  was  so  self-flattering  that  he 
decided  to  ask  permission  to  call. 

He  saw  Agatha  just  before  she  was  leaving,  radi- 
ant, glowing  with  comeliness  and  proud  of  her  tri- 
umphs. Why  should  others  rush  in  where  he  dared 
not  tread,  he  asked  himself.  He  would  dare,  too. 

"  Good  night,  Countess,"  he  said  humbly.  "  May 
I  be  permitted  to  see  you — to  call  upon  you?  There 
are  some  things " 

"  Certainly;  I  am  at  home  Thursdays,"  was  all 
she  dared  say. 

In  her  carriage  she  had  the  first  opportunity  to 
reflect  upon  what  she  had  done.  How  she  hated 
him.  How  the  mere  touch  of  his  hand  seemed  to 
contaminate  her!  And  she  hated  herself  scarcely 
less  intensely.  She  could  rub  her  hand  on  the  edge 
of  her  cloak,  and  feel  it  somehow  purified;  but  her 
soul  she  could  not  rid  of  its  taint.  Yet  she  must 
go  on.  Some  day  there  would  come  a  great  moral 
cleansing,  and  she  could  hang  her  smirched  self- 
esteem  out  to  dry. 

Hamilton's  days  until  the  following  Thursday 
were  full  of  uneasiness  and  apprehension.  What  if 
she  were  waiting  to  pour  out  upon  him  the  full  vials 
of  her  wrath  and  scorn  in  the  privacy  of  her  own 
house  ?  He  was  half  inclined  not  to  see  her  ;*  he 
had  made  no  positive  engagement.  But  then  came 
the  thought  of  the  others,  and  jealousy  gave  him 
strength. 

Agatha  was  alone  when  he  was  ushered  in.  She 
saw  his  embarrassment,  and  tried  to  put  him  at  ease. 

320 


AN  AMBUSCADE 

Their  talk  was  conventional  for  a  while,  till  he 
could  no  longer  steer  away  from  the  subject  that 
he  knew  must  arise  sooner  or  later.  He  spoke  with 
humiliating  self-contempt  of  his  forgery,  and  asked 
her  to  believe  that  it  was  undertaken  only  at  the 
direst  necessity  and  with  the  solemn  intent  to  pay 
back  the  money.  In  proof  of  this  he  showed  the 
letter  and  the  draft  of  restitution. 

She  listened  with  apparent  kindliness,  and  helped 
him  in  the  difficult  task  of  excusing  himself.  Then 
he  went  a  step  further  back  in  both  their  lives,  and 
attempted  to  refer  to  the  days  in  the  Copeland  house. 
She  only  smiled. 

"  I  hoped  you  had  forgotten  that  youthful  folly," 
she  said.  "  Perhaps  I  was  quite  as  much  to  blame 
as  anyone.  We  are  men  and  women  of  the  world 
now,  and  can  afford  to  forget  the  misunderstand- 
ings of  the  past." 

He  was  surprised  and  delighted  that  the  obstacles 
to  winning  back  her  favor  were  so  easily  removed. 
The  old  bonhomie  returned,  and  he  chatted  easily 
and  entertainingly  of  stocks,  spurred  on  by  skilful 
questioning.  He  was  on  sure  ground  now,  and 
Agatha  found  that  his  information  as  to  certain 
market  conditions  was  most  useful.  Of  the  status 
of  the  "  United  Mines  "  operation  and  his  connec- 
tion therewith,  she  learned  enough  to  warrant  the 
writing  of  a  note  to  Atherton  as  soon  as  he  had 
gone. 

"  Faugh!  "  she  exclaimed,  as  she  set  to  work  at 
her  desk,  with  pads  and  memorandum  books  for 

321 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


her  only  companions,  "  the  price  we  have  to  pay  for 
success  is  heart-sickening  sometimes.  What  if 
Ralph  Harding  were  right  ?  But  even  if  he  were,  I 
shall  carry  my  work  through  to  the  end,  and  when 
it  is  finished — why,  then  we  shall  see  whether 
Agatha  Renier  is  better  or  worse  for  it." 


$22 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

"  TO    FORGIVE   DIVINE  " 

HARDING,  with  the  quick  intuition  of  affec- 
tion, had  already  begun  to  see  the  traces 
upon  Agatha's  face  of  the  wearing,  grind- 
ing life  she  had  chosen  so  deliberately.  Even  if  he 
had  not  learned  from  his  ally,  James  Anderson,  of 
the  visit  of  Hamilton,  followed  by  several  others 
within  a  fortnight,  and  of  the  girl's  frequent  inter- 
views with  Atherton,  he  would  have  known  from  her 
appearance  that  she  was  under  a  great  mental  strain. 
Even  the  allurements  of  society  were  now  relent- 
lessly cut  off  in  favor  of  the  new  and  absorbing  in- 
terests that  clustered  about  the  glass-covered  ma- 
chine in  her  library.  She  went  nowhere,  excusing 
herself  on  the  plea  of  ill-health,  and  she  held  no  more 
functions  in  the  fine  house.  Society  wondered,  and 
then  ceased  to  inquire  about  her.  The  papers  hinted 
at  all  sorts  of  mysteries — that  the  beautiful  Countess 
was  immersed  in  the  writing  of  a  new  book  that  was 
to  set  New  York  altogether  by  the  ears ;  that  she  was 
deeply  interested  in  holy  things  and  might  soon  take 
the  veil,  and,  finally,  that  some  unhappy  love  affair 
had  cast  a  deep  gloom  over  her  hitherto  sunny  nature 
and  that  the  world  might  hope  to  see  her  no  more. 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


She  read  these  things,  smiled  contemptuously,  and 
worked  the  harder. 

So  far  as  Hamilton  was  concerned  the  minister 
felt,  as  in  the  case  of  Atherton,  that  Agatha  was 
using  him  as  pawn  in  the  development  of  her  game  of 
vengeance,  the  playing  of  which  he  feared  was  be- 
coming a  mania  with  her. 

One  afternoon  he  had  another  earnest  talk  with 
her.  He  did  not  reach  the  house  till  after  three,  for 
he  had  learned  from  experience  that  she  rarely  left 
her  library  or  cared  to  see  anyone  until  the  stock 
market  had  closed.  He  found  her  wearied,  distraite, 
full  of  moody  silence  that  told  that  this  was  the 
moment  to  strike  if  he  wished  to  do  any  good.  He 
implored  her  by  their  old  friendship,  by  the  memory 
of  Mrs.  Copeland,  who  had  planned  so  zealously  for 
her  welfare,  to  care  for  herself,  to  cease  the  cruel 
punishment  of  her  nerves  through  her  slavery  to  the 
monster  of  the  quotations-tape. 

"  If  this  thing  continues,  Agatha,"  he  said,  at- 
tempting diplomacy,  "  you  cannot  hope  to  do  the 
work  you  have  set  your  heart  upon.  You  are  playing 
upon  a  single  string  of  your  emotions;  when  that 
breaks,  what  is  to  happen?  No  more  harmony, 
Agatha ;  a  ruined  and  useless  harp.  Can  you  afford 
to  run  such  risks  ?  " 

This  practical  way  of  putting  her  case  appealed 
to  the  girl's  mind ;  that  he  could  see  by  the  thought- 
ful look  in  her  eyes.  Now  to  arouse  her  heart,  and 
the  first  step  toward  victory  would  be  taken. 

"  You  have  suffered,  it  is  true,"  he  went  on.  "  But 
do  you  know  that  in  this  great  bedlam  of  a  town  there 

324 


"TO  FORGIVE  DIVINE" 

are  thousands  whose  tortures  of  soul  are  tenfold 
greater  than  any  you  can  even  imagine?  You  said 
the  other  day  that  you  would  give  me  two  after- 
noons a  week  whenever  I  should  call  for  them.  Why 
not  one  to-morrow  ?  " 

With  the  mood  of  pity  strong  upon  her  she  re- 
plied :  "  I  shall  be  glad  to  go — to  help,  if  possible. 
Shall  I  take — money?  I  am  willing,  you  know,  to 
do — anything." 

"  Not  to-morrow.  I  shall  show  you  human  be- 
ings beyond  the  reach  of  conventional  charity. 
Some  other  time,  perhaps " 

When  he  had  gone,  Agatha,  still  full  of  her  new 
tenderness,  went  to  her  room  and  took  a  packet  of 
letters  from  the  little  satinwood  box  her  grandfather 
had  made  long  ago.  Her  eyes  filled  with  the  gentle 
mist  of  a  revived  sorrow.  Then  another  thought 
came  to  her  heart,  perhaps  for  the  first  time,  as  she 
saw  the  many  envelopes  addressed  "  Mrs.  Sarah 
Copeland,  Hotel  Richelieu,  Paris,  France,"  in  the 
bold  and  symmetrical  handwriting  of  Ralph  Hard- 
ing. 

"  Why  did  he  never  write  to  me  ?  "  she  asked  her- 
self, trembling  with  a  strange  emotion  that  she  only 
half-heartedly  tried  to  subdue.  For  the  first  time  in 
many  weeks  she  drew  forth  the  picture  of  her  mother 
and  kissed  it  as  in  girlhood  days.  Then  she  replaced 
it  with  loving  care  and  closed  the  box.  Suddenly  she 
remembered  that  Atherton  was  to  call  on  the  mor- 
row, and  she  went  to  the  telephone. 

"  I  shall  not  be  at  home  to-morrow  afternoon," 
she  said,  "  so  if  you  will  call  this  evening  then  we  can 

325 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


talk  over  the  last  necessary  steps  of  our  deal — the 
'  U.  M.,'  you  know." 

Agatha's  carriage  was  in  front  of  Harding' s  house 
early  the  next  afternoon. 

"  Now,"  she  exclaimed  brightly,  as  the  minister 
opened  the  brougham  door,  "  I  am  at  your  service. 
Command  my  driver." 

She  had  expected  an  immediate  pilgrimage  to  the 
horrors  of  the  East  Side  tenement  region,  and  was 
astonished  when  they  stopped  before  a  splendid 
apartment  house  on  Madison  Avenue.  In  a  hand- 
some suite  they  found  a  wealthy  widow,  whose  son 
lay  crippled  and  speechless  on  a  bed  of  pain.  But 
the  chief  sufferer  was  the  mother,  through  whose 
lack  of  caution  had  occurred  the  accident  that  had 
brought  her  idol  low.  Her  agony  of  self-blame  had 
finally  settled  into  deep  melancholy  as  it  was  seen 
how  hopeless  was  the  case  of  her  son,  and  it  was  this 
that  Harding  sought,  in  his  lovable  and  manly  way, 
to  banish. 

"  Oh,  if  he  could  only  speak  to  forgive  me,  or  even 
to  reproach  me,  I  could  endure  it,"  she  was  wont  to 
say. 

It  was  the  minister's  mission  to  try  to  lighten  this 
morbid  grief,  to  stimulate  new  interests  where  the 
cripple  was  concerned.  It  was  a  hard  task,  but  he 
had  persevered  until  he  had,  at  least,  aroused  re- 
spect and  admiration  in  the  burdened  heart. 

Upon  Agatha,  who  had  been  warmly  welcomed  by 
the  sufferer  as  an  old  friend  of  her  counsellor,  this 
visit  made  a  profound  impression.  She  saw  as  never 
before  the  compelling  charm  of  Harding,  she  realized 

326 


"TO  FORGIVE  DIVINE" 

the  soothing  power  of  his  voice,  and,  as  they  rode 
away  from  the  place,  she  felt  proud  that  the  man 
beside  her  was  her  friend.  A  warm  physical  delight 
in  life  took  possession  of  her;  she  was  glad  to  be 
near  this  wholesome  man  on  this  beautiful  afternoon. 
He  chatted  entertainingly  about  his  various  "  cases," 
little  dreaming  of  the  very  personal  form  his  di- 
version for  Agatha  was  taking.  And  it  was  well  for 
his  peace  of  mind  that  he  did  not. 

Next  they  visited  a  writer  of  books  whose  young 
wife  was  a  confirmed  dipsomaniac.  For  the  elysium 
of  alcohol  the  beautiful  woman  would  trample  honor, 
truth  and  self-respect  in  the  mud,  only  to  awake  to 
the  frightful  torture  of  broken  nerves  and  intense 
self-loathing.  Either  before  or  after  one  of  her  sen- 
suous outbursts  Harding  had  a  peculiarly  magnetic 
influence  upon  the  woman,  and  the  literary  husband 
had  often  called  the  minister  from  his  bed  in  the  dead 
of  night  to  come  to  the  work  of  mercy.  Agatha 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  poor  creature,  and  the  sight 
of  her  bloated  face  and  red  eyelids  haunted  her  for 
many  a  day. 

These  things  and  many  more  the  girl  saw,  and  in 
all  of  them  there  was  some  peculiar  element  that 
showed  Harding's  originality  in  the  matter  of  doing 
good.  She  was  impressed  for  the  time  being,  but  the 
force  that  held  the  citadel  of  her  soul  was  still  too 
strong  to  be  dislodged,  and  she  returned  to  her 
schemes  with  scarcely  abated  zeal. 

Several  days  after  this  trip  Harding  suddenly  ap- 
peared at  the  Fifth  Avenue  house  in  a  cab,  and  asked 
Agatha  if  she  could  come  with  him  at  once.  It  was 

327 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


not  one  of  his  afternoons,  she  reminded  him  pleas- 
antly, and  she  was  afraid  she  could  not  spare  the 
time. 

"  I  would  not  trouble  you,  Agatha,"  he  said,  "  but 
a  dying  woman  has  asked  that  you  might  come  to 
her." 

The  deep  solemnity  of  his  tone  and  a  subtle  some- 
thing in  his  face  had  its  effect  upon  her,  and  she  made 
no  further  remonstrance,  but  put  on  the  simple  attire 
she  was  accustomed  to  wear  when  on  her  rounds 
with  him,  and  they  were  soon  being  rapidly  driven 
toward  the  lower  East  Side  in  a  direction  they  bad 
several  times  taken  before. 

A  throng  of  conflicting  emotions  surged  through 
the  girl's  mind  as  they  proceeded  on  their  way.  More 
and  more,  she  told  herself,  with  a  thrill  of  impatience, 
she  was  obeying  the  behests  of  this  strong  person- 
ality. What  did  it  mean,  and  where  would  it  end? 
Would  he  at  last  win  her  from  her  allegiance  to 
duty  as  she  conceived  it?  No,  that  should  never 
be,  she  thought  almost  fiercely.  He  was  good  and 
kind,  and  doubtless  believed  that  he  was  right;  but 
there  were  different  standards  for  different  natures, 
and  who  should  say  that  hers  was  not  as  lofty  as 
any?  For  some  time  neither  spoke;  then  it  was 
she  who  broke  the  silence. 

"  Is  it  the  Cartwright  woman  who  is  dying  ?^ 

"  No,  Agatha,"  he  replied,  with  an  accent  that 
somehow  precluded  any  further  inquiry. 

The  carriage  drew  up  before  a  tenement  house 
which  Agatha  did  not  remember  to  have  seen.  It 
was  a  shabby  building,  but  with  some  brave  attempts 
at  gentility.  Up  four  flights  of  stairs  they  climbed, 

328 


"JO  FORGIVE  DIVINE" 

assailed  by  the  odors  of  coarse  cookery  and  the  cries 
of  fretful  children. 

A  woman  in  the  garb  of  a  nurse  opened  a  door  in 
response  to  Harding's  ring. 

"  Is  she — ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  Still  alive,  but  very  low,"  was  the  reply. 

Agatha,  vaguely  wondering  why  she  should  be 
brought  to  a  death-bed,  gazed  about  the  two  rooms 
visible  from  the  hallway.  They  were  pitifully  bare 
of  furniture,  but  the  few  remaining  pieces  showed 
that  the  apartments  had  once  boasted  better  things 
than  could  have  been  expected  in  such  a  place. 
Evidently  the  awful  pressure  of  poverty  had  grad- 
ually squeezed  all  the  comforts  from  the  rooms  to 
the  pawnshops. 

"  Come,"  said  the  minister,  beckoning  to  his  com- 
panion, and,  as  they  crossed  the  threshold  he  whis- 
pered gently :  "  Remember,  she  has  but  a  few  mo- 
ments to  live." 

And  there,  stretched  upon  a  bed  from  which  she 
would  never  rise  again  in  life,  Agatha  saw  Lucy 
Worth-Courtleigh. 

The  poor,  pallid  face,  wasted  by  disease  and  drawn 
by  mental  suffering,  had  lost  all  of  its  loveliness. 
Only  the  rich  beauty  of  the  hair  remained  of  all  the 
glowing  treasures  of  comeliness  that  had  once  been 
so  admired.  Yet  somehow  the  countenance  had 
been  purified,  as  if  by  bitter  repentance  and  the  con- 
quest of  a  weak  and  shallow  nature  by  an  immortal 
soul. 

No  one  spoke  and  no  one  moved  for,  it  seemed  to 
Agatha,  interminable  hours.  And  yet  this  meeting, 
totally  unexpected  as  it  was,  gave  no  shock  to  the 

329 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


girl.  The  solemnity  of  the  scene,  the  hovering  pres-  • 
ence  of  the  angel  of  death,  robbed  the  situation  of 
all  but  its  aspect  of  human  suffering. 

At  last  Harding  said  gently  to  the  frail  figure 
upon  the  bed :  "  Agatha  is  here." 

The  head  on  the  pillow  turned  with  painful  de- 
liberation, and  into  the  dimned  eyes  came  a  transi- 
tory gleam  of  recognition.  A  thin  finger  beckoned 
slowly  to  Agatha,  and  she  leaned  over  toward  the 
bloodless  lips. 

"  I  sent  for  you,"  came  the  thin  and  trembling 
tones,  like  some  ghostly  utterance  from  another 
world,  "  to  beg  your  forgiveness.  I  felt — that  with 
it  I  could  have  more  hope  of  the — forgiveness  of  the 
hereafter.  No,  don't  speak.  I  did  you  a  terrible 
wrong,  but  I  was  mad — mad  with  outraged  pride, 
jealousy,  infatuation." 

The  grip  of  mortal  pain  throttled  her  utterance, 
and  she  lay  for  a  minute  inert  and  like  one  dead. 
Agatha  raised  her  head  tenderly  and  moistened  the 
trembling  lips  with  water. 

"  I  wronged  you,"  the  pitiful  voice  resumed,  "  and 
I  wronged  another.  But  for  me  Guy  Hamilton 
might  have  been  a  different  man.  I  have  been  told, 
too,  by  Mr.  Harding  that  my  wretched  letter  was 
attributed  to  him." 

There  was  a  swift  gesture  from  Agatha  at  this 
confession,  and  Harding  turned  quickly,  fearful  as 
to  what  might  follow.  But  he  saw  the  beautiful 
face  he  loved  so  well  looking  down  on  the  dying 
woman  with  a  gaze  of  divine  compassion.  It  was 
the  victory  of  an  awakening  soul. 

330 


"I  sent  for  you  —  to. beg    your  forgiveness.' 


"TO  FORGIVE  DIVINE" 

"  Bitter  has  been  my  punishment  and  bitter  my 
repentance,"  quavered  the  dying  woman.  "  If  you 
can  find  it  in  your  heart  to  pity,  if  not  forgive,  I 
shall  die  more  easily." 

Agatha  opened  her  lips  to  speak,  but  the  other 
lifted  a  warning  finger. 

"  Wait  one  moment.  I  have  done  what  I  could 
to  make  reparation.  .  .  .  Mr.  Harding,  give 
me  the  packet." 

The  minister  drew  from  his  pocket  a  large  en- 
velope and  gave  it  to  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh.  She 
in  turn  placed  it  in  Agatha's  disengaged  hand. 

"  There,"  she  said  faintly,  "  is  my  sworn  state- 
ment of  the  facts — my  confession  of  the  greatest  sin, 
great  sinner  though  I  have  been,  of  my  life.  It  will 
exonerate  you,  if  my  own  disgrace  has  not  already 
done  so.  Think  well  before  you  answer.  Can  you 
forgive  me  ?  " 


Harding  had  left  the  room  a  little  before,  for  he 
believed  that  the  scene  was  too  sacred  for  even  his 
kindly  presence.  In  a  few  minutes  Agatha  joined 
him,  pressing  her  handkerchief  to  her  tear-stained 
eyes.  She  pointed  to  the  inner  room  with  a  gesture 
more  eloquent  than  words.  He  left  her,  but  returned 
almost  immediately. 

"  All  is  over,"  he  said  quietly  to  the  nurse,  "  and, 
thank  God,  all's  well." 

Then,  with  the  grandeur  of  the  presence  of  death 
still  about  them,  they  sought  their  carriage  in  the 
squalid  street  below. 

331 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

TIGHTENING   THE   NOOSE 

THE  progress  of  the  great  coup  in  "  United 
Mines  "  was  rapid,  and  it  was  satisfactory 
to  Atherton  for  'more  reasons  than  the 
merely  financial.  Besides  the  profits  he  expected  to 
make,  would  be  involved  the  defeat  of  Hamilton, 
who,  he  now  felt  sure,  was  attempting  his  overthrow 
in  the  councils  of  the  new  company;  and  finally — 
most  roseate  thought  of  all — he  would  be  able  to 
appeal  to  the  Countess  Fornay  as  the  maker  of  her 
fortune  and  the  possessor  of  a  magnificent  one  of  his 
own.  He  would  then  stand  in  double  favor  as  a 
suitor. 

He  knew  himself  well,  this  shrewd  manipulator  of 
others,  and  he  felt  that  in  his  personality  was  little 
to  attract  a  woman  of  Agatha's  qualities.  He  felt, 
too,  that  her  hot  pursuit  of  money  in  the  market, 
her  placing  herself  in  dangerous  situations,  was  not 
for  any  small  object.  The  key  to  her  secret,  was, 
without  doubt,  her  ambition  to  become  a  woman  of 
great  fortune,  and  with  that  golden  lever  to  pry  open 
the  doors  of  the  socially  elect  of  New  York.  Ah, 
how  he  would  slave  and  plan  and  grasp  opportunities 
in  order  to  be  able  to  gratify  her  imperious  desire; 

332 


TIGHTENING  THE  NOOSE 

with  the  elaborate  setting  that  wealth  could  give  he 
felt  that  he  could  pass  muster. 

So  he  had  been  weaving  his  web  for  several 
weeks,  tightening  a  thread  here,  breaking  another 
there,  but  ever  sitting  in  the  center,  fat,  bloated,  ap- 
parently asleep.  By  and  by,  when  the  flies,  which 
to  him  were  Hamilton  and  the  public,  should  be 
where  he  wanted  them  he  would  strike.  His  scheme 
had  changed  two  or  three  times  in  as  many  weeks. 
At  first  it  was  merely  to  invest  the  money  Agatha 
had  entrusted  to  him — some  $25,000 — together 
with  $40,000  of  his  own,  in  the  quiet  purchase  of 
enough  "  United  Mines  "  to  give  him  control.  But 
he  found  it  impossible  to  get  hold  of  a  sufficient 
quantity  in  the  open  market.  Hamilton  had  evi- 
dently taken  alarm,  and  was  gripping  his  shares 
tenaciously.  Atherton  had  found  that  his  associate 
was  holding  a  great  portion  of  his  stock  on  margin, 
and  that  the  demand  inspired  by  himself  merely  sent 
up  the  price  and  made  Guy's  position  more  secure. 
He  had  learned,  too,  from  Agatha  that  Hamilton 
had  told  the  truth  when  he  said  that  he  did  not  con- 
trol. There  was  one  thing  to  do,  a  dangerous,  au- 
dacious thing — but  he  would  do  it. 

As  the  scheme  flourished,  so  did  his  infatuation 
for  the  woman  involved  in  it.  Her  beauty  called 
loudly  to  his  senses,  while  her  keen  wit,  her  clear 
financial  vision,  her  intellectual  grasp  of  stock  "  sit- 
uations," appealed  powerfully  to  his  mind.  The  un- 
usual combination  was  irresistible. 

But  shrewd  as  he  was,  he  failed  to  consider  that 
Agatha  might  be  playing  her  own  game  in  the  mar- 

333 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


ket  quite  apart  from  his  tender  care,  which,  in  fact, 
she  was  doing.  Using  information  from  both 
Atherton  and  Hamilton,  she  employed  the  fluctua- 
tions in  the  smaller  stocks  that  formed  the  "  United 
Mines  "  to  her  great  advantage.  She  made  money 
rapidly,  and,  flushed  with  success,  felt  herself  com- 
pletely ready  for  Atherton's  promised  stroke  that 
was  to  shake  Wall  Street  and  ruin  Guy  Hamilton. 
Her  plan  would  have  astonished  the  rosy-faced 
broker  who  adored  her,  for  it  involved  his  own  de- 
feat as  well  as  that  of  his  rival.  She  felt  justified 
in  attempting  to  humble  him,  for  his  coarseness  had 
given  her  frequent  offense,  and  she  despised  his  pro- 
posed treachery  to  his  business  associate  and  friend. 
Once  the  battle  were  over,  and  she  a  victor,  she  could 
teach  him  his  place. 

For  Hamilton,  however,  she  had  no  pity.  Al- 
though the  scene  at  Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh's  death- 
bed had  affected  her  deeply,  it  had  increased  rather 
than  lessened  her  bitterness  toward  the  man,  for, 
in  spite  of  the  wretched  woman's  self-accusation,  she 
held  him  in  great  measure  responsible  for  luring  a 
wife  from  her  honor  and  duty;  his  arts  of  fascina- 
tion she  knew  too  well.  She  would  crush  him,  and 
by  her  own  hand  alone,  although  she  now  knew  that 
Atherton  would  have  brought  about  his  ruin  had  she 
not  existed. 

One  evening  when  she  was  nursing  her  impatience 
at  the  long-continued  failure  of  Atherton  to  launch 
his  thunderbolt,  she  received  a  note  which  read : — 

"  /  shall  come  to  your  house  to-morrow  before  the 
334 


TIGHTENING  THE  NOOSE 

market  opens — and  stay  until  it  closes,  perhaps.  In 
that  privacy  I  can  work  to  better  advantage.  H.  is 
away  on  a  yachting  trip,  and  the  hour  to  strike  is  at 
hand.  You  will  applaud  the  plan;  it  is  impreg- 
nable. 

"H.A." 

That  night  sleep  was  long  in  o  miing  to  the  youth- 
ful mistress  of  the  great  house.  The  eve  of  her 
vengeance  was  here;  the  time  toward  which  her 
every  thought  had  long  set  its  current  was  winging 
its  way  softly  toward  her.  She  was  not  happy,  she 
knew,  but  there  was  something  higher  and  stronger 
than  happiness :  the  feeling  that  through  her  own 
energy  and  will  a  wrong  was  to  be  righted,  a  mem- 
ory avenged  and  a  defamer  brought  low. 

She  saw  Harding's  grave  and  handsome  face  be- 
tween her  and  her  goal.  How  noble  he  looked,  how 
unlike  either  of  the  men  she  was  to  play  one  against 
the  other  on  the  morrow.  She  knew  how  he  would 
regard  the  coup,  but  she  stifled  the  whisperings  of 
conscience  by  the  resolution  that  after  to-morrow  she 
would  show  him  how  grateful  she  was  for  the  past. 
She  would  be  free,  free !  She  would  help  him  as  he 
had  never  been  helped  before;  he  should  see  that 
Agatha  R««i«r  c«uli  be  Lady  Bountiful  as  well  as 
Countess  Fornay.  She  would — . 

Then  came  the  gentle  touch  of  sleep,  and  forget- 
fulness  of  all  things  mortal,  for  her  dreams  that 
night  were  of  her  mother. 

Atherton  arrived  early  next  morning,  smiling  and 
immaculate.  He  rubbed  his  hands  in  joyful  antici- 

335 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


pation  of  the  day's  triumph,  and,  after  a  few  of  his 
customary  compliments,  he  unfolded  to  Agatha  his 
plan  of  campaign.  She  listened  with  every  faculty 
alert. 

"  Now,  my  dear  Countess,"  he  began,  "  the  situa- 
tion at  this  moment  is  plain :  we  are  not  in  control 
of  '  United  Mines,'  nor  is  Hamilton.  We  have  not 
been  able  to  acquire  the  stock  in  the  market — nor 
has  Hamilton.  We  must  get  control  to-day,  if  ever, 
for  Hamilton,  as  I  wrote  you,  is  out  of  town.  How 
shall  this  be  done?  " 

Agatha  shook  her  head  slowly.  Even  had  she 
known,  she  would  not  have  suggested  at  this  time. 
But  she  hung  upon  his  words  as  she  had  never  lis- 
tened to  a  human  being  before.  On  her  correct 
comprehension  of  what  he  should  say  rested  im- 
mense possibilities. 

"  It  shall  be  done  by  a  stroke  that  will  make  the 
'  street '  talk  for  many  a  month.  We  shall  sell 
'  United  Mines.'  " 

"  But  I  thought—" 

"  Exactly.     We  shall  sell — but  we  shall  buy." 

"Ah!" 

The  audacity  of  the  move  fascinated  her.  It  was 
as  clear  as  crystal  now. 

"  They  will  be  '  wash '  sales,  of  course.  My 
brokers  have  orders  to  pick  up  the  stuff  that  my 
other  brokers  let  out.  After  an  hour  or  two  we'll 
put  a  raft  of  '  United  '  on  the  market,  and  smash  the 
price  to  smithereens.  The  bottom  will  drop  out, 
and  as  Hamilton  holds  thousands  of  shares,  mostly 

336 


TIGHTENING  THE  NOOSE 


on  margin,  he  will  be  wiped  out  while  he  is  on  the 
bounding  billow,  and  we  will  pick  up  what  his 
brokers  are  forced  to  sell.  When  three  o'clock 
comes,  we  shall  be  joint  masters  of  '  United  Mines.' 
Your  money  I  shall  use  in  buying  on  the  break." 

During  this  elated  recital  Agatha's  brain  had  been 
busy  with  the  problem  she  had  set  herself  to  solve. 
How  should  she  outwit  this  man  of  iron  nerves  and 
unscrupulous  will,  and  at  the  same  time  be  empow- 
ered to  wield  the  lash  over  Hamilton's  cowering 
frame?  By  one  of  those  sudden  mental  illumina- 
tions that  are  like  the  broad  lighting  up  of  a  dark 
landscape  by  an  electric  flash,  the  solution  came 
when  she  least  expected  it.  The  preliminary  buzz- 
ing of  the  ticker  as  it  ground  out  its  repeated 
"  ABCD  "  for  the  morning  test,  warned  her  that 
now,  if  ever,  time  was  golden. 

Under  pretence  of  examining  her  memorandum 
books,  she  sat  down  at  her  desk  and  wrote  something 
on  a  small  slip  of  paper.  Then  she  went  to  the  door, 
opened  it  quickly  and  looked  into  the  hall.  The  slip 
of  paper  went  into  a  big  jardiniere  standing  just 
outside  the  room,  and  there  in  a  quite  remarkably 
short  time  it  was  found  by  James  Anderson,  who 
read  it  and  hurried  away  to  another  part  of  the 
house. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  one  of  the  servants  prowling 
about  the  door,"  she  said  as  she  returned.  "  One 
can  never  be  too  careful  in  such  matters,  you  know." 

The  broker  nodded  approval,  and  picked  up  the 
tape  that  was  now  being  belched  forth  with  a  regu- 

337 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


larity  that  denoted  the  opening  of  the  market.  For 
many  minutes  he  sat  in  silence,  his  eyes  glued  to  the 
battalion  of  figures  as  they  followed  one  another  in 
single  file  from  out  the  glass  case.  At  last  he  mut- 
tered his  satisfaction. 

"  Here's  the  first  sale  of  '  United,'  "  he  said.  "  A 
hundred  shares  at  ninety-one.  Good.  It  closed 
yesterday  at  ninety-two  and  a  quarter.  The  game 
begins  well,  my  dear  lady." 

For  an  hour  or  more  the  stock  was  offered  in 
moderate  quantities,  and  practically  held  its  own  in 
price,  as  the  ticker  told  the  two  anxious  watchers. 
As  the  noontide  hour  approached  Atherton  pulled 
out  his  watch. 

"  In  a  few  minutes,"  he  said  grimly,  "  the  slaugh- 
ter will  begin.  It's  the  greatest  joke  of  the  season. 
Everybody  will  see  my  stock  going  to  smash  and 
pity  poor  Atherton.  .  .  .  Ah,  see  this,  Five 
hundred  '  United '  at  ninety — Three  hundred  at 
eighty-nine  and  seven-eighths — Four  hundred  at 
eighty-nine.  Bravo,  Countess!  It  won't  take  much 
of  this  sort  of  thing  to  hamstring  our  friend  Hamil- 
ton. .  .  .  Eh;  what's  this?  Four  hundred 
'  United '  at  ninety-one — Five  hundred  at  ninety- 
one  and  three-quarters — A  thousand  at  ninety-two. 
My  God,  what's  going  on?  " 

He  whirled  the  telephone  call  convulsively  and 
asked  for  his  office  number. 

"  Hello,  Jones  ?  "  he  said  in  a  low  voice  that  was 
tremulous  with  excitement.  "  Have  I  seen  the 
boom  in  '  United  Mines  '  ?  Certainly.  No,  I  don't 
know  what  it  means,  but  order  everybody  to  pour 

33S 


TIGHTENING  THE  NOOSE 

out  all  I've  got  of  it.  Flood  the  market,  d'ye  hear? 
Flood  it!" 

Then  back  to  the  ticker  again,  where  the  story  of 
misfortune  was  accentuated  every  moment.  Huge 
blocks  of  the  "  United  Mines  "  were  coming  out, 
only  to  be  snapped  up  with  a  readiness  that  sent  the 
price  soaring.  Great  beads  of  perspiration  stood 
out  on  Atherton's  forehead  as  he  surveyed  the  terri- 
ble miscarriage  of  his  plans.  Then  the  telephone 
bell  rang.  He  answered  the  call. 

"  Eh  ?  so  it  will,  by  heavens.  Order  'em  all  to 
stop  selling  my  holdings  at  once." 

He  turned  to  Agatha  to  tell  her  what  he  had 
learned. 

"  My  man  says  that  there  is  some  tremendous 
force  supporting  '  United/  nobody  knows  what.  My 
brokers,  who  were  not  ordered  to  protect  the  stock, 
but  to  depress  it,  have  been  outbidden  on  the  floor 
by  the  brokers  of  this  other  power.  Who  it  can  be 
the  devil  himself  only  knows.  Hamilton  is  away, 
and  I  can  conceive  of  nobody  else  who  could  possibly 
want  the  stock.  Ah,  that  suggests  something." 

He  pulled  the  long  strip  of  paper  from  its  basket 
and,  beginning  at  the  opening  of  the  market,  made  a 
swift  mental  calculation  of  the  number  of  shares  of 
"  United  Mines  "  that  had  been  sold.  As  he  brought 
into  the  total  the  latest  transaction  in  the  stock,  he 
groaned  with  dismay. 

"  Countess,"  he  said  humbly,  "  I  have  to  ask  your 
pardon  for  bungling  one  of  the  most  promising  deals 
I  ever  undertook.  It  is  morally  certain  that  we 
have  lost  control  of  the  company  by  my  stupidity  in 

339 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


not  instructing  my  brokers  to  buy  in  my  stock  at  any 
price  if  they  saw  any  special  outside  demand  for  it. 
I  am  sorry  and  ashamed." 

"  Don't  let  yourself  be  troubled  overmuch  about 
it,  Mr.  Atherton,"  said  Agatha  sweetly.  "  Perhaps 
you  were  not  so  much  to  blame,  after  all." 

"  I  fear  I  was.  And  it  is  too  late  now  to  recoup 
ourselves;  we  evidently  cannot  buy  back  the  stock 
at  any  price  from  the  combination  that  has  got  pos- 
session of  it.  If  I  had  only  put  your  money  into 
*  Huronide '  and  the  others,  you  would  have  made  a 
handsome  thing  of  it.  See  how  they're  booming 
with  '  United.' ' 

"  But  I  own  five  thousand  of  '  Huronide '  and  the 
others,  as  you  call  them,  already." 

He  looked  at  her  with  admiring  wonderment. 

"  I  congratulate  you,  Countess,"  he  said  dryly. 
"  You  have  made  a  neat  thing  by  to-day's  work. 
Perhaps  if  I  had  let  you  engineer  the  big  deal,  it 
might  have  resulted  differently." 

Confessing  himself  baffled  by  the  result  of  the 
coup,  he  went  down  town  to  see  if  any  light  could 
be  obtained  in  the  "  street,"  leaving  Agatha  to  her 
jubilant  thoughts.  She  felt  certain  that  her  instruc- 
tions to  her  brokers :  to  buy  all  the  "  United 
Mines  "  thrown  upon  the  market,  at  any  price,  had 
been  obeyed  to  the  letter.  She  was  the  power  that 
had  so  mystified  Atherton ;  she  controlled  the  stock. 
The  knowledge  that  vengeance  was  within  her 
grasp,  that  on  the  morrow  she  had  but  to  give  the 
signal  and  Hamilton  would  be  ruined,  filled  her  with 
supreme  content. 

340 


TIGHTENING  THE  NOOSE 

In  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  a  note  was  brought 
to  her  by  a  servant.  It  had  been  delivered  by  a  mes- 
senger, he  said,  and  an  answer  was  expected.  It 
was  from  Guy  Hamilton,  asking  if  she  would  re- 
ceive him  that  evening.  With  a  thrill  of  triumph 
she  wrote  at  the  bottom  of  the  note  the  single  word 
"  yes." 

Although  she  dined  alone,  she  dressed  with  an 
extraordinary  care  and  beauty  that  somewhat  as- 
tonished her  usually  impassive  maid. 


341 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

THE   MASK   THROWN   OFF 

IN  the  early  afternoon  of  the  day  of  Atherton's 
financial  discomfiture  the  steam  yacht  "  Buc- 
caneer "  drew  up  to  her  dock  on  the  East 
River  side  of  the  city,  and  her  rather  hilarious 
human  freight  disembarked  and  went  their  several 
ways.  The  "  Buccaneer  "  had  not  been  expected  until 
the  morrow,  but  a  slight  accident  to  her  machinery 
made  it  advisable  to  return  to  port.  So  she  limped 
in,  and  brought  with  her  Guy  Hamilton. 

That  gentleman  was  in  high  feather,  for  during 
the  trip  he  had  secured  the  promise  of  several  finan- 
cial princes  that  they  would  cooperate  with  him  in 
his  projected  "  scoop  "  of  "  United  Mines  "  stock. 
A  fortune  and  a  great  reputation  were  within  his 
grasp.  In  a  week  he  would  be  able  to  lord  it  over 
Atherton,  and  then — well,  then  for  a  fairer  and  more 
desirable  conquest  than  the  winning  of  mere  dollars. 

Emboldened  by  what  seemed  a  foregone  conclu- 
sion of  success,  he  at  last  cut  the  rope  that  held  him 
to  his  anchor  of  sobriety,  the  anchor  that  had  been 
his  salvation  in  the  immediate  past,  and  joined  with 
the  other  guests  of  his  millionaire  host  in  the  con- 
sumption of  heroic  quantities  of  champagne.  Under 

342 


THE  MASK  THROWN  OFF 

the  inspiration  of  the  choice  wine,  life,  for  Hamilton, 
had  absolutely  no  obstacles  to  the  winning  of  what- 
ever prize  he  cared  to  take. 

And  so  his  thoughts  turned  to  Agatha  with  a 
boldness  they  had  not  known  since  that  night  at  the 
French  consul's.  Their  relations  had  been  cordial 
enough  on  the  surface,  yet  there  had  been  a  con- 
straint in  her  presence,  like  some  barrier  of  in- 
visible wire  whose  strength  he  felt  rather  than  saw. 
But  to-day  his  attitude  changed,  and  great  was  his 
joy  when  his  messenger  brought  back  his  note  with 
the  eloquent  "  yes  "  in  Agatha's  handwriting. 

The  Countess  received  him  in  the  library  with  a 
graciousness  that  put  to  flight  any  lingering  embar- 
rassment he  might  have  felt.  She  was  a  vision  of 
beauty  in  her  Worth  gown  of  black  lace  and  jet,  and 
he  would  have  given  half  his  anticipated  fortune  to 
fold  her  at  once  in  his  arms.  He  came  in  like  a 
conqueror,  and  she  noticed  the  change  in  his  de- 
meanor before  he  had  walked  halfway  across  the 
room. 

"  Did  you  think  it  strange  that  I  should  have 
written  for  permission  to  call  to-night  ?  "  he  asked 
sentimentally. 

"  Why,  no,"  she  replied  gaily,  "  of  course  not. 
It's  quite  customary,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  But  not  between  old  friends,"  he  replied  with 
an  air  of  assurance  that  roused  her  spirit  immedi- 
ately. Was  it  possible  that  he,  of  all  men,  had  lost 
his  memory  ? 

"  I  knew  you  would  take  an  interest  in  what  I 
have  done  to-day,"  he  continued.  "  I  have  been 

342 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


with  the  kings  of  Wall  Street.  I  have  won  them  to 
my  side  completely.  They  listened  to  me,  Agatha, 
— think  of  it,  to  me — as  if  I  were  one  of  them.  I 
shall  be  soon,  for  everything  is  fighting  for  me. 
All  I  need  is  inspiration." 

She  smiled  in  supreme  contempt  at  his  meaning, 
which  was  clear  enough  to  her  woman's  wit.  Blinded 
by  passion  and  the  vinous  excesses  of  the  day,  he 
mistook  the  smile  for  something  else. 

"  Ah,  you  see  my  meaning,"  he  went  on  rapidly. 
"  You  will  let  the  past  rest  in  its  forgotten  grave  ? 
The  present  is  for  us  two  together.  We  can  con- 
quer the  world,  I  of  finance  and  you  of  society.  I 
love  you,  Agatha,  I  have  always  loved  you.  I  want 
you  to  be  my  wife.  I  am  at  your  feet ;  trample  me, 
if  you  will,  but  keep  me  near  you." 

The  girl  turned  her  head  to  hide  for  the  moment 
the  triumph  that  glowed  richly  in  her  face.  It  was 
the  act  of  modesty,  hesitation,  yielding,  he  thought. 
He  seized  her  hands  and  clasped  them  warmly. 

"  Ah,  Agatha,  dear,"  he  cried  wildly,  "  surely 
you  will  not  keep  me  in  suspense.  Tell  me — " 

"  Tell  you,"  she  echoed,  tearing  her  hands  from 
his  grasp  and  facing  him  in  a  sort  of  fury.  "  You 
offer  me  yourself  and  your — fortune.  You  your- 
self have  claims,  of  course,  for  you  have  said  it! 
But  your  fortune — what  of  that?" 

In  bewilderment  he  began  a  disconnected  recital 
of  his  present  position  and  his  hopes  for  the  future. 
She  cut  him  short  with  scornful  words. 

"  But  the  price  ?    You  are  to  buy,  and  I  am  to  sell. 

344 


THE  MASK  THROWN  OFF 

I  must  know  the  terms.     How  much  do  you  bid? 
What  is  your  cash  offer  for  my  hand  ?  " 

Scarcely  believing  his  ears,  absolutely  unable  to 
judge  whether  this  were  the  height  of  bitter  sarcasm 
or  a  cold-blooded  proposition  from  an  ambitious 
woman  of  the  world,  Hamilton  blundered  on. 

"  I  am  on  the  verge  of  a  great  coup  in  stocks,"  he 
said  at  last. 

"A  coup?"  exclaimed  the  girl  contemptuously. 
"  One  has  been  made  to-day  while  you  were  wining 
and  dining.  Look  there !  " 

She  threw  aside  a  magnificent  Japanese  screen 
with  a  swift  movement  and  there,  silent  but  with  its 
mass  of  paper  still  clinging  to  its  maw,  stood  the 
ticker  of  the  New  York  Stock  Exchange.  He  looked 
at  it  dully  for  a  moment,  and  then  into  her  face. 
Something  he  saw  there  chilled  his  easy  confidence 
into  dread. 

"I — I  haven't  seen  the  tape  for  two  days/'  he 
said  vaguely.  "  What  is  it  you  mean  ?  And  what's 
that  ticker  doing  here  ?  " 

"  See  for  yourself,"  she  replied  coldly,  pointing 
to  the  tape.  He  whirled  the  writhing  mass  out  of 
the  basket,  and  began  at  the  opening  quotations. 
He  frowned  angrily  at  the  innocent  figures. 

"A  break  in  'United  Mines,'  eh?  Worse;  a 
slump,  a  pounding.  Who  on  earth  has  been  at  us? 
If  I  had  only  been  here !  And  what  the  deuce  is  the 
meaning  of  it  ?  The  market  is  strong  enough.  It's 
a  raid  on  me.  Can  Atherton? — no,  he's  too  thick- 
headed, too  business-like." 

345 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


He  passed  the  long  strip  swiftly  through  his  fin- 
gers, noting  with  adept  eye  the  prices  of  his  spe- 
cialty as  they  glided  by.  Then  exultation  took  the 
place  of  anxiety. 

"  Ah,  she  strengthens !  They  didn't  have  it  their 
own  way — That's  it,  up  it  goes.  Somebody  is  fight- 
ing for  us,  as  I  should  have  done.  Magnificent! 
It  closes  at  ninety-five.  I  see — Atherton  was  to  the 
rescue,  and  routed  the  bears.  To-morrow  we  shall 
win  the  fight." 

"  To-morrow  you  will  be  a  ruined  man,"  said 
Agatha  solemnly. 

"  Nonsense !  I  tell  you  they  can't  beat  me. 
Doesn't  to-day's  battle  show  it  ?  " 

"  Nevertheless,  you  are  on  the  brink  of  a  great 
catastrophe,"  she  insisted  gravely. 

He  tried  to  gain  some  light  from  her  face,  but  its 
dmpassiveness  baffled  him.  Then  the  significance  of 
the  paraphernalia  of  the  market  in  this  room  began 
to  dawn  upon  him. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  he  cried  hoarsely. 
"  What  do  you  know  ?  "  He  seized  her  roughly  by 
the  wrist,  and  again  demanded :  "  What  do  you 
know?" 

"  I  know  that  every  dollar  you  have  is  locked  up 
in  '  United  Mines  '  and  the  smaller  companies  form- 
ing it.  I  know,  too,  that  you  are  holding  these 
shares  on  margin.  Well,  you  will  never  see  a  penny 
of  your  money  again." 

"  You  talk  like  an  insane  woman,"  he  said  sulk- 
ily, "  and  I'm  half  inclined  to  believe  you  are. 

346 


THE  MASK  THROWN  OFF 

Didn't  you  see  how  Atherton  supported  the  stock 
to-day?" 

"  You  quite  misapprehend  the  situation,  Mr. 
Hamilton.  Atherton  did  not  save  you.  He  did  not, 
he  could  not,  buy  those  stocks." 

"  But  someone — " 

"  Yes,  someone,  of  course.  That  someone  was 
myself.  The  stocks  are  mine,  mine.  Do  you  un- 
derstand, or  must  I  repeat  it :  mine!  " 

"  You — bought — them  ?  "  he  stammered,  com- 
pletely overwhelmed  by  the  astonishing  revelation. 
This,  then,  was  the  end — to  be  a  plaything  in  the 
hands  of  a  woman,  to  have  to  cringe  to  one  he  once 
treated  with  such  cavalier  loftiness.  It  was  too 
monstrous  to  believe,  and  incredulity  began  to  show 
itself  on  his  face. 

Agatha  hurriedly  reviewed  the  steps  of  the  cam- 
paign that  was  to  have  ruined  him  in  any  event. 
Her  thorough  understanding  of  the  scheme,  her 
complete  knowledge  of  his  own  most  secret  plans, 
made  her  appear  to  his  distorted  imagination  like 
some  handsome  witch  who  could  read  his  own 
thoughts.  He  was  terrified  now,  and  disposed  to 
plead,  in  the  faint  hope  that  her  hand  might  be 
stayed. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Agatha,"  he  whimpered,  "  what 
— what  made  you  do  this  ?  " 

"  Because  I  hated  you,"  she  said  bitterly,  "  be- 
cause I  have  hated  you  for  five  years.  I  hated  you 
when  you  insulted  me  beneath  your  aunt's  roof.  I 
hated  you  more  intensely  when  my  grandfather  went 

347 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


to  his  death,  the  victim  of  a  slander  caused  by  you. 
My  hate  grew  daily,  hourly,  in  the  years  in  Paris. 
When  I  gazed  at  the  picture  of  my  dear  mother,  in- 
stead of  peace  her  features  brought  storm,  for  they 
recalled  the  insults  that,  because  of  your  unmanli- 
ness,  were  heaped  upon  her  grave  by  your  scandal 
izing  set." 

"  I — I  surely  had  no  share  in  that,"  he  pleaded, 
but  she  went  on  without  heed. 

"  Your  theft  from  one  who  had  befriended  and 
loved  you  till  you  proved  too  base  for  respect,  in- 
creased my  hatred.  But  I  despised  you  most  when 
you  came  in  the  day  of  my  prosperity  and  fawned 
upon  me,  and  cringed  to  me  from  the  depths  of  your 
degradation,  for  then  you  proved  yourself  a  fool  as 
well  as  a  knave." 

He  shrank,  as  one  would  shrink  from  the  lash  of 
a  whip,  under  her  lacerating  contempt. 

"  Now  you  are  on  the  verge  of  ruin,  and  I  have 
done  it.  I  control  your  boasted  company.  I  can 
depose  you  from  its  presidency,  and  make  your 
margin-held  shares  your  undoing  if  I  choose.  To- 
morrow the  whole  world  shall  know  that  your  at- 
tempt to  make  of  yourself  a  king,  you  who  are  not  fit 
for  a  king's  fool,  was  balked  by  a  woman.  Now  go, 
you  cur !  " 

There  was  no  appeal,  he  knew,  as  he  looked  at  the 
stern  determination  on  her  countenance.  Baffled, 
beaten,  humiliated,  he  walked  slowly  toward  the 
door.  Then  he  turned  with  a  sudden  blaze  of 
wrath. 

"  This  is  not  your  work,"  he  exclaimed,  "  you 

348 


THE  MASK  THROWN  OFF 

couldn't  do  it.  That  sniveling  Harding  put  you  up 
to  it.  I'll — I'll  wring  his  neck,  d him." 

"  As  you  did  the  night  he  would  have  resented 
your  insult  to  me,  had  not  a  humbler  man  saved  him 
from  physical  contamination  by  use  of  a  horsewhip," 
she  retorted. 

Hamilton's  wine-flushed  face  became  purple  with 
anger,  and  his  fists  clenched  as  if  he  would  have  an- 
nihilated her,  woman  though  she  was. 

"  Take  care,"  he  shouted,  "  neither  one  is  here  to 
defend  you  now."  And  he  rushed  toward  her  as 
she  stood  with  her  back  to  the  wall  in  an  attitude  of 
splendid  defiance.  Her  very  beauty,  heightened  by 
the  excitement,  exasperated  and  maddened  him. 

"  Be  careful,"  she  said  icily,  "  you  are  observed. 
Well,  Pierre?" 

"  Mad'moiselle  rang?"  asked  the  well  trained 
servant  impassively,  although  he  had  witnessed  a 
portion  of  the  surprising  scene. 

"  Yes,  Pierre.  This — gentleman  has  seen  fit  to 
insult  your  mistress.  Show  him  the  door." 

The  tall  and  powerful  Frenchman  placed  a  hand 
on  Guy's  shoulder  and  gripped  it  as  with  a  clasp  of 
iron.  The  furious  man  attempted  to  shake  the  serv- 
ant off,  but  to  no  avail,  and  Le  was  forced  from  the 
room  and  into  the  hall,  cursing  and  biting  his  lips  in 
impotent  fury.  Then  the  one-time  favorite  of  Old 
Chetford's  aristocracy,  the  would-be  monarch  of 
finance,  was  thrust  into  the  street  like  some  vile 
intruder. 

No  sooner  had  the  shutting  of  the  outer  door  an- 
nounced Hamilton's  expulsion  than  the  strength  of 

349 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


bitterness  that  had  sustained  Agatha  deserted  her, 
and  a  violent  reaction  set  in.  Trembling  in  limb 
and  faint  at  heart  she  hurried  to  her  chamber.  She 
took  from  its  satinwood  box  the  miniature  of  her 
mother  and  pressed  it  to  her  lips.  Falling  upon  her 
knees  by  the  bedside,  she  held  the  picture  in  her  out- 
stretched hands  and  gazed  at  the  sweet  and  childlike 
face  as  if  she  would  call  it  back  to  life. 

"  Have  I  done  right  ?  Are  you  satisfied  with  your 
child  ?  "  she  asked. 

Then  overtaxed  nature  bent  beneath  its  burden, 
and  the  girl  slipped  away  into  unconsciousness. 


530 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

A   NEW   DAWN 

AGATHA'S'    apparently    lifeless    body    was 
found  by  her  maid,  who  had  come  to  the 
chamber  to  announce  a  caller.     The  girl 
was  a  self-possessed  little  thing,  and  she  neither 
screamed  nor  rushed  in  a  panic  for  help.     Instead, 
she  applied  a  crystal  of  smelling-salts,  and  forced 
some  cold  water  between  her  mistress'  teeth.     She 
was  soon  delighted  to  note  signs  of  returning  con- 
sciousness, and  in  a  few  moments  more  Agatha  rose 
mechanically  to  her  feet. 

She  looked  blankly  about,  when  the  gold  locket, 
its  lovely  occupant  gazing  into  her  face,  caught  her 
eye,  and  brought  back  the  passionate  scene  through 
which  she  had  just  passed,  with  tumultuous  vivid- 
ness. 

She  sighed  wearily.  Oh,  for  rest,  for  peace,  for 
oblivion!  Were  all  victories  in  the  world  bought 
at  such  terrible  price?  Did  the  fruit  of  triumph 
always  turn  to  ashes  on  the  lip?  Then  why  strug- 
gle on,  to  be  buffeted  by  fate,  even  in  one's  hour  of 
exultation?  She  felt  that  sleep  might,  perhaps,  be 
persuaded  to  spread  its  gentle  wing  over  her,  and 
she  asked  her  maid  to  get  her  ready  for  bed,  early 
z.s  it  was. 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  But,  Mad'moiselle,"  said  the  little  servant,  "  I 
came  all  on  ze  purposs  to  tell  you  zat  a  caller  is  for 
you  down-stairs." 

"  A  caller,  Jeannette?     Who?  " 

"  It  is  ze  cure,  ze — what  you  call  meenestaire, 
Monsieur  Harding.'' 

In  some  magical  way — she  did  not  then  under- 
stand how — all  of  Agatha's  weariness  and  despond- 
ency vanished  at  the  sound  of  that  name.  In  their 
place  came  a  throbbing  of  the  heart  that  filled  her 
with  nervous  energy.  She  dispatched  her  maid  to 
make  excuses  for  her  delay,  and  began  to  tear  off 
her  beautiful  gown  as  if  every  second  were  of  price- 
less value.  She  chose  from  her  wardrobe  a  simple 
dress,  reddish  in  tone,  and  took  the  diamond  orna- 
ments from  her  hair. 

Harding  had  come  to  the  house  in  response  to  an 
urgent  telephone  message  from  James  Anderson. 

"  You  are  needed  at  Fifth  Avenue,"  it  said, 

and  the  minister  rejoiced,  even  in  his  foreboding, 
for  he  felt  that  the  time  had  come  when  he  could 
take  a  positive  position  and  stake  his  all  on  one 
final  cast  of  the  die.  His  heart  swelled  with  thanks- 
giving as  he  saw  from  the  faces  and  bearing  of  the 
servants  that  no  outward  harm,  at  least,  had  come 
to  his  beloved. 

And  when  she  appeared  before  him  at  last,  clad 
with  a  beautiful  simplicity  he  had  not  seen  since  the 
old  days  on  the  "  Hill,"  when  he  was  teacher  and 
she  his  pupil,  his  intuition  told  him  of  some  spiritual 
change  for  the  better.  By  a  queer  turn  of  memory 
the  color  of  her  dress  recalled  that  day  in  the  mill 

352 


A  NEW  DAWN 


yard  at  Old  Chetford,  when  he  had  seen  her  pinning 
up  the  rent  in  her  scarlet  skirt,  an  enticing  vision  of 
young  girlhood.  He  had  asked  himself,  he  remem- 
bered, what  her  future  would  be,  and  all  had  been  a 
mystery,  a  simple  guessing  at  the  potentialities  of 
woman  and  her  environment.  Was  he  any  more 
certain  now  what  would  become  of  her?  From  the 
depths  of  his  most  secret  consciousness  came  the 
glad  "  yes,"  so  full  and  strong  that  it  almost  took 
form  upon  his  lips.  She  was  to  be  saved  from  that 
most  relentless  of  enemies — self.  His  old  prophetic 
feeling,  the  Hebraic  spirit  that  three  or  four  times  in 
his  life  had  filled  his  soul  with  conviction,  was  again 
upon  him. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Harding." 

He  started  as  from  a  revery,  and  took  the  hand  so 
cordially  extended.  He  noticed  a  little  trembling 
of  the  fingers  that  lingered  in  his  own  a  moment 
longer  than  might  have  been  absolutely  necessary. 
And  the  eyes,  around  which  he  had  so  often  noted 
dark  circles  of  late,  bore  signs  of  tears.  James  An- 
derson had  grasped  the  situation;  he  was  needed. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  be  here,  Agatha,"  he  said. 

The  familiar  name  struck  upon  her  ears  like  a 
chord  of  beautiful  music.  Of  late  he  had  not  used 
it;  indeed, — the  thought  all  at  once  came  to  her — 
he  had  omitted  all  manner  of  naming  her  in  direct 
conversation,  except  that  once  he  had  called  her 
"  Countess,"  which  had,  in  a  certain  sense,  wounded 
her,  she  could  not  tell  why.  Now  the  old  name, 
fraught  with  cherished  memories,  was  most  pleasant. 

As  part  and  parcel  of  her  softer  mood  came  a 

353 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


strange  sense  of  weakness,  a  hunger  for  human  sym- 
pathy. Oh,  for  an  hour  of  Mrs.  Copeland  or  her 
grandfather!  How  easily  she  could  become  a  girl 
again  under  their  loving  shelter.  Yet  here — and 
she  thrilled  with  the  swift  realization — was  their 
legitimate  successor,  the  true  and  faithful  link  be- 
tween her  present  and  past.  Had  Harding  known 
the  tenderness  of  her  musings,  he  would  not  have 
interrupted  them,  even  for  the  words  of  sympathy 
that  he  delicately  expressed. 

"  I  fear  you  are  not  quite  yourself,  Agatha  " — 
again  that  dear  name — "  you  look  weary,  and,  if  I 
may  be  pardoned,  ill.'' 

"  I  am  ill,"  she  replied  passionately,  "  ill  at  heart, 
sick  of  the  cruelties  of  the  world,  the  world's  wrongs. 
So  sick,  and  so  tired." 

Tears  flooded  her  eyes,  tears  that  were  more  wom- 
anly than  she  had  shed  since  the  loss  of  her  benefac- 
tress. 

Harding  would  gladly  have  soothed  the  girl  with 
the  caress  that  his  whole  being  cried  out,  "  give, 
give,"  but  before  his  own  impulses  he  put  a  practical 
desire  for  her  welfare.  First  must  the  body  and  the 
brain  be  restored  to  health,  and  the  heart — ah,  if 
ever  the  time  came  for  him  to  minister  to  that,  he 
would  know  what  to  do. 

"  Agatha,"  he  said  with  gentle  insistence,  "  the 
time  has  come  for  you  to  break  from  the  stifling  in- 
fluences of  the  life  you  lead  in  this  house,  if  you  wish 
to  really  live.  Go  out  into  the  country.  Breathe 
God's  fresh  air,  with  his  green  carpet  beneath  your 
feet  and  his  blue  sky  over  your  head.  Try  that 

354 


A  NEW  'DAWN 


beautiful  life  for  a  while,  and  your  cheek  will  glow 
and  your  heart  warm  with  nature's  own  humanity." 

The  fervor  of  his  words  fitted  her  mood,  the 
charm  of  the  picture  appealed  to  her  fancy. 

"  Yes,  when  I  have  done  my  work.  To-morrow 
sees  the  beginning  of  the  end,"  she  exclaimed,  start- 
ing up  suddenly  and  pacing  the  room  with  nervous 
tread.  "  To-morrow  he  will  be  crushed,  crushed 
under  the  weight  of  my  revenge.'' 

Harding  did  not  ask  who  was  thus  to  be  punished; 
he  knew  too  well  whom  she  meant. 

"  He  was  here  to-night." 

"  Here?  "  exclaimed  Harding,  his  instinct  telling 
him  that  the  man's  presence  was  intimately  con- 
nected with  Agatha's  great  mental  upheaval.  He 
loathed  the  fellow  now;  in  fact  he  dared  not  think 
that  he  did  not  hate  him. 

"  Yes,  and  I  warned  him  what  the  morrow  would 
bring  forth;  that  he  would  be  ruined,  discredited, 
and  that  I  alone  was  responsible." 

"  You  would  ruin  him?  How  ?  "  he  asked  in  sur- 
prise. 

Walking  up  and  down  before  him,  her  clasped 
hands  swaying  curiously  in  rhythm  with  her  step, 
and  her  dark  eyes  glowing  with  the  ardor  of  a  wild 
thing  spying  out  its  prey,  she  told  him  in  somewhat 
incoherent  fashion  the  story  of  her  financial  victory 
and  the  situation  into  which  she  had  forced  Hamil- 
ton. 

"  And  what  of  your  conscience?  "  he  ventured,  as 
she  finished  her  remarkable  story,  "  does  it  ap- 
prove?" 

355 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  Perfectly.  What  claim  has  that  man  for  con- 
sideration ?  For  the  second  time  in  his  life  he  tried 
to  force  his  so-called  love  upon  me.  This  time  I 
was  not  defenceless,  and  I  had  him  kicked  from  the 
house  by  a  servant/' 

All  the  man  within  the  minister's  stalwart  body 
rose  up  in  a  great  thrill  of  joy  at  this  reference  to 
the  past,  coupled  as  it  was  to  her  present  attitude. 
Then  there  had  never  been  any  affection  for  Ham- 
ilton !  The  thought  was  a  subtle  intoxication.  And 
yet  the  peril  to  Agatha  was  as  vital  as  ever. 

She  stopped  her  measured  walk,  and  faced  him  as 
if  in  defiance. 

"  You  speak  of  conscience,"  she  cried.  "  Would 
it  be  worthy  of  the  name  if  it  did  not  approve  what 
I  am  doing?  His  sins  against  me  I  could  forgive, 
perhaps,  but  his  sins  against  the  dead  are  pardon- 
less.  You  are  an  honest  man ;  tell  me,  does  he  not 
merit  a  far  greater  punishment  than  I  can  inflict?  " 

"  His  evil  has  been  great;  the  punishment  is 
trivial.  It  is  not  of  him  that  I  am  thinking,  but  of 
you." 

"Of  me?  Am  I  worth  considering  at  such  a 
crisis,  when  the  memory  of  those  he  made  wretched 
cries  for  vengeance  ?  " 

"  Ah,  Agatha,  but  does  it?  Mrs.  Copeland,  your 
grandfather,  your  mother — would  they  wish  it? 
Would  they  wish  to  see  the  girl  they  loved  trans- 
formed by  hate  into  a  vindictive  woman?  Would 
they  be  happy  to  see  your  nature  hardening  under 
the  stress  of  a  revenge  cherished  for  years,  and 
feeding  upon  your  better  self  to  its  ultimate  de- 

356 


A  NEW  DAWN 


struction.  Would  they  approve  of  injuring  the  in- 
nocent— the  minor  holders  of  this  stock  that  is  your 
weapon — to  punish  the  guilty  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  only  know  that  I  cannot  for- 
get, I  cannot  forgive." 

"  I  admit  your  great  wrongs.  I  frame  no  excuse 
for  this  man's  brutality.  It  is  for  you  I  plead.  For-- 
giveness  is  the  greatest  of  the  virtues,  for  it  is  the 
most  difficult  to  practice.  It  is  the  most  noble,  for 
it  is  the  most  ennobling." 

41  My  wrongs — their  wrongs.  You  forget  them !  " 
she  cried  with  an  intensity  that  touched  him  deeply. 

"  No,"  he  replied  gently,  "  nor  did  He  whose  for- 
giveness is  the  beacon  to  us  all,  forget.  He  remem- 
bered, but  He  forgave." 

"  He  was  not  mortal,"  she  whispered.  Then  she 
looked  him  full  in  the  eyes  and  added :  "  You,  your- 
self, could  not  forgive." 

"  Couldn't  I  ?  "  he  asked  with  a  sad  smile.  "  I 
have  forgiven.  It  was  a  great  burden  that  sorely 
tried  me,  but  I  forgave  him  years  ago." 

"Hamilton?" 

"  Yes." 

"What  had  you  to  forgive?"  she  queried,  her 
eyes  filled  with  questioning. 

"  The  greatest  thing  he  could  have  done  to  injure 
me,"  he  answered  gravely. 

"  To  injure  you  ?     How  could  he  injure  you?  " 

"  By  injuring  you,"  he  said  gently. 

"  By  injuring  me?     I — I  don't  understand." 

"  Yes,  Agatha,  by  injuring  you."  He  spoke  rap- 
idly now,  and  with  a  vehemence  she  had  never  before 

357 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


heard  from  his  lips.  "  Yes,  for  I  loved  you,  loved 
you  then  as  I — as  I  love  you  now.'' 

"  You — love — me?  " 

She  stood  before  him  in  adorable  wonderment, 
her  head  bent  forward  toward  his  own,  her  lips 
parted  and  her  eyes  filled  with  a  soft  radiance. 

His  long  repressed  ardor  burst  forth  in  a  torrent 
of  tender  words,  a  storm  of  passionate  phrases  that 
would  not  be  denied.  Never  had  he  pleaded  for  a 
soul  more  eloquently  than  for  the  cause  of  his  own 
manly  heart,  nor  ever  had  he  a  more  entranced  lis- 
tener. And  yet — 

"  Why  have  you  not — told  me  this  before?  Why 
did  you  not  tell  me — then  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  speak  then,"  he  answered  gently,  "  be- 
cause you  were  in  distress  and  scarcely  more  than  a 
child.  I  could  not  try  to  force  myself  into  your 
heart,  for — pardon  me,  dear,  I  did  not  know  every- 
thing then  as  since — I  feared  that  the  heart  Guy 
Hamilton  wounded  so  deeply  held  some  tenderness 
for  him." 

"  And  yet  you  would  have  thrashed  him  that  night 
at  the  club,"  said  Agatha,  the  sunlight  dancing  into 
her  eyes  through  the  mist  of  recent  tears. 

Whose  was  the  face  that  Harding  saw  with  sur- 
prise before  him  ?  It  was  strange,  yet  familiar.  The 
years  had  rolled  backward;  there  was  no  more  a 
Countess  Fornay;  the  Agatha  Renier  of  old  stood 
there  in  masquerade  in  another's  brilliant  drawing- 
room.  And,  most  wondrous  of  all,  the  hard  lines 
had  vanished  from  her  face  and  the  benison  of  peace 
seemed  to  have  descended  upon  her. 

358 


A  NEW  DAWN 


"  You  knew  that  ?  "  he  could  only  ejaculate,  filled 
as  he  was  by  the  joy  of  his  discovery. 

"  Your  good  ally,  James  Anderson,  told  me  all 
about  it  in  Paris.  The  fragments  of  the  whip  he 
used  are  among  my  dearest  treasures.  Often  as  I 
looked  at  them  I  have  thought  of  the  strong  arms — 
your  arms — that  were  ready  to  protect  me  then — " 

"  And  ever  have  been,  dear,  and  are  now  and  al- 
ways shall  be,  if — " 

"  There  are  no  '  ifs,'  "  she  broke  in  impetuously, 
"  at  least,"  she  added,  blushing  divinely,  "  none  that 
7  can  offer." 

"  My  darling,  do  you  know  what  that  means?  " 

"  Why  should  I  not  when  I — Oh,  Ralph,  my  dear, 
must  I  say  it  aloud  ?  " 

"  No,  sweetheart;   there  is  another  way — " 

And  that  other  way  she  chose — the  way  of  loving 
womankind  since  the  world  began,  the  way  of  the 
heart's  silent  eloquence,  of  fire  and  dew,  of  fulfil- 
ment and  promise.  Clasped  in  his  strong  and  loyal 
arms  the  burden  of  her  earthly  struggles  slipped 
away,  and  the  glorified  portals  of  a  new  life  were 
opened  wide  for  her  willing  feet. 


With  Agatha's  love  came  implicit  faith,  and  she 
relied  upon  Harding's  counsel  to  determine  her  ac- 
tion in  the  matter  of  the  stock  transaction.  At  his 
advice  she  wrote  to  her  various  brokers,  counter- 
manding her  orders  of  the  afternoon,  and  left  her 
further  course  to  his  judgment.  It  was  not  that  her 

359 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


scheme  of  vengeance  had  yielded  to  her  new-found 
happiness;  that  would  have  been  merely  the  ex- 
change of  one  passion  for  another.  No,  she  knew 
that  there  had  been  a  new  dawn,  and  that  her  love 
was  but  one  of  its  radiant  beams.  Her  soul,  long 
buried  in  the  ashes  of  morbid  retrospection,  had 
been  awakened  to  life  and  beauty,  and  she  saw  a  new 
heaven  and  a  new  earth. 


360 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

A  DEBT   IS   PAID 

HARDING  went  directly  from  the  scene  of 
his  life's  profoundest  joy  to  the  Realists' 
Club,  there  to  arrange  for  the  forwarding 
of  the  notes  of  instruction  to  Agatha's  brokers  as 
soon  as  their  places  of  business  should  be  open  in  the 
morning. 

The  happiness  in  his  heart  must  have  found  ex- 
pression on  his  face,  for  some  of  his  club  acquaint- 
ances noted  and  commented  on  his  appearance. 
"  Satan "  Montgomery  sauntered  up  to  the  desk 
where  the  minister  had  seated  himself  to  write,  and 
attempted  to  rally  him  upon  his  altered  looks. 

"  I  say,  Harding,"  he  began  jovially,  rolling  a 
cigarette  of  Egyptian  tobacco,  for  which  accom- 
plishment he  had  a  great  reputation,  "  you  look 
radiant,  positively.  Quite  a  change,  in  fact,  from 
the  down-in-the-mouth  face  you've  been  wearing 
around  the  club  lately.  Have  you  at  last  knocked 
the  devil  out  for  good  and  all  in  your  prize-fight 
with  sin  ?  " 

The  minister  was  too  full  of  his  new  delight  to 
take  offence  at  this  flippant  familiarity. 

"  Well,  not  exactly.  But  I  may  have  exorcised 
one  evil  spirit,  and  that's  a  good  deal,  isn't  it?  " 

361 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  Bah !  Let's  have  a  whack  at  the  billiard-balls, 
old  man.  I  want  revenge." 

"  Not  to-night,  Montgomery.  I  have  other  things 
to  think  about." 

And,  in  fact,  he  had.  For  him  there  was  the 
overwhelming  knowledge  of  Agatha's  love,  for 
which  his  being  had  hungered  these  many  years. 
But  beyond  even  that,  to  his  stern  integrity,  was  the 
blessed  thought  that  the  beacon  light  he  had  tended 
so  long  and  so  lovingly  had  been  seen,  and  the  peril 
of  the  reef  averted.  Now  he  could  rest  from  his 
ceaseless  vigil,  and  the  realization  brought  him  un- 
utterable peace. 

He  knew  that  the  desire  of  the  high-minded  girl 
for  the  rehabilitation  of  her  mother  and  herself  in 
Old  Chetford  was  pure  and  worthy,  and  he  rejoiced 
that  it  could  be  realized  without  any  of  the  spec- 
tacular effects  she  had  planned.  As  his  wife — "  his 
wife !  "  how  the  words  thrilled  him — she  would  com- 
mand respect,  and  her  fine  gifts  and  finer  nature 
would  soon  win  for  her  the  loyal  affection  of  all  who 
were  worth  while.  He  would  not  have  felt  it  un- 
warranted had  he  choked  a  public  confession  of  his 
deceit  and  dishonor  from  Hamilton,  but  that,  he 
realized,  would,  only  set  new  tongues  wagging.  No ! 
Over  the  obliterated  grave  of  the  dead  scandal  his 
wife  should  erect  a  new  temple  of  truth  that  would 
do  her  honor  evermore. 

But  what  should  be  the  man's  punishment?  He 
could  not  conjecture,  but  he  felt  a  great  certainty 
that  in  some  way  fate  would  exact  a  reparation.  He 
had  no  patience  with  the  doctrine  that  the  wicked 

362 


A  DEBT  IS  PAID 


flourish  upon  earth  more  than  do  the  good,  nor  did 
he  care  to  leave  to  the  hereafter  the  complete  con- 
demnation of  the  scoundrel. 

The  ending  of  the  stock  transaction,  which  re- 
lieved Agatha  from  the  sullying  presence  of  Hamil- 
ton forever,  suggested  that  something  was  to  be 
done  to  save  the  innocent  persons  who  would  be  in- 
volved by  any  sudden  turning  of  "  United  Mines  " 
upon  the  market.  He  determined  that  from  the 
plans  of  hatred  and  revenge  should  spring  great 
good.  So  he  wrote  to  a  broker  of  his  acquaintance, 
a  man  he  knew  to  be  honest,  asking  him  for  an  ap- 
pointment on  the  following  day,  when  the  control  of 
the  stocks  should  be  handed  over  to  him  for  such 
disposition  as  his  well-regulated  conservatism  should 
think  best.  That  done,  the  road  of  happiness  would 
be  clear,  and  then  for  the  new  life  in  the  old,  familiar 
place  that  his  imagination  even  now  pictured  smiling 
in  the  vernal  beauty  of  early  summer. 

He  had  sealed  his  letter  to  the  broker,  and  was 
addressing  it,  when  the  sound  of  loud  voices  at- 
tracted his  attention.  He  saw  a  little  knot  of  men 
just  outside  the  library,  standing  near  the  marble 
stairs  that  led  to  the  floor  below.  Prominent  among 
the  men  was  the  tall  frame  of  Hamilton,  and,  as  the 
crowd  parted  a  little,  he  could  make  out  the  fat,  ad- 
mirably dressed  figure  of  Horatio  Atherton. 

Undoubtedly  there  was  violent  talk  between  the 
two,  but  Harding  could  not  at  first  distinguish  their 
words.  Could  the  double-dealing  in  stocks  be  known 
to  Hamilton,  he  wondered.  In  that  case  there  was 
a  possibility  that  Agatha's  name  might  be  dragged 

363 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


into  the  quarrel.  He  arose  hastily,  armed  with  a 
new  feeling  of  responsibility,  and  walked  toward  the 
group  of  excited  men. 

"  I  tell  you,  Hamilton,  you're  drunk,"  Atherton 
was  saying  with  his  utmost  suavity.  "  I  hate  a 
drunken  man,  and  I  won't  dispute  with  you." 

"  Well,  you  can  hate  and  be .  You've  got 

to  hear  what  I've  got  to  say.  I  tell  you  you  tried  to 
cheat  me." 

The  minister's  teeth  set  hard,  and  his  limbs  stif- 
fened instinctively.  He  dreaded,  but  was  ready  for 
the  next  word. 

"  Hamilton,  you're  a  fool.  Go  to  bed,  and  you'll 
apologize  in  the  morning,"  said  Atherton  coolly, 
lighting  one  of  his  black  cigars.  "  Easy,  now, 
easy,"  he  remarked,  with  a  blandness  that  mad- 
dened Hamilton,  as  the  latter  started  forward,  his 
fists  clenched  and  his  lips  babbling  unintelligible 
threats. 

The  drink-crazed  man  was  seized  and  pinioned  by 
some  of  the  clubmen  as  he  lunged  viciously  at  Ath- 
erton, who  merely  laughed  and  blew  a  cloud  of 
smoke  into  Hamilton's  face. 

"  Let  me  go,"  shrieked  the  struggling  Guy,  "  I 
tell  you  he  took  that  third  ace  out  of  his  discards. 
I  saw  him  do  it,  d him." 

A  great  weight  lifted  itself  from  Harding's  soul. 
The  disgraceful  row  had  no  stronger  basis  than  a 
quarrel  over  a  gambling  game.  He  prepared  to  go 
home,  giving  a  servant  instructions  as  to  the  send- 
ing of  the  letters  early  in  the  morning. 

364 


A  DEBT  IS  PAID 


"  Good  night,  gentlemen,"  said  Atherton  amiably, 
and  stepped  down  the  marble  stairs. 

At  this  vanishing  sight  of  the  object  of  his  wrath, 
Hamilton,  by  a  tremendous  effort,  broke  away  from 
his  captors,  and  started  for  the  stairs,  reeling  as  he 
went. 

"  Look  out  for  him,  or  he'll  fall,"  cried  Harding 
sharply,  and  several  of  the  men  sprang  forward  in 
alarm.  Guy  turned,  half-facing  them,  with  a  leer 
of  drunken  self-confidence. 

"  Don't  you  worry  'bout  me,  you  fellers,"  he  hic- 
coughed with  a  foolish  smile.  "  I'm  all  right;  I'm 
always  all — " 

The  boastful  words  were  silenced  on  his  lips,  as 
he  wavered  wildly  on  the  top  step,  swinging  his  arms 
frantically  about  in  the  vain  attempt  to  clutch  some- 
thing for  support.  Then  he  fell  headlong  down  the 
stairs  to  the  marble  floor  below,  just  brushing  the 
descending  figure  of  Atherton  as  he  went. 

A  cry  of  dismay  came  from  some  of  Hamilton's 
friends,  but  above  all  was  the  high-pitched,  sarcas- 
tic voice  of  "  Satan ''  Montgomery  trying  to  reas- 
sure everybody. 

"  Drunken  men  and  fools  never  get  hurt,  fellows," 
he  said.  "  He's  all  right,  I  dare  say." 

But  when  they  went  down  and  lifted  the  inert  and 
unconscious  mass,  they  knew  well  that  the  old  adage 
had  failed  terribly. 

With  white  faces  they  bore  him  to  one  of  the 
chambers,  and  placed  him,  dressed  as  he  was,  on  one 
of  the  club's  immaculate  beds.  Spasmodic  moans 

365 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


and  an  occasional  heaving  of  the  chest  were  all  that 
spoke  of  life  within  him.  His  fair  hair  was  streaked 
with  blood,  and  his  handsome  face  was  the  color  of 
death. 

A  medical  member  of  the  club  who  had  dropped 
in  after  a  late  emergency  call,  applied  restoratives 
and  tried  to  make  the  sufferer  comfortable.  Then 
he  spent  a  long  time  in  careful  examination  of  the 
injuries. 

"  Well,  Doctor  ?  "  asked  Harding,  as  the  physi- 
cian came  from  the  room  at  last.  The  answer 
burned  into  his  brain  indelibly. 

"  No  bones  are  broken.  The  shock  was  great, 
but  the  inertness  of  the  fall  prevented  fracture.  He 
will  live,  but  the  injury  to  his  spine  is  permanent. 
He  will  never  speak  or  have  the  power  of  motion 
again.  God  knows,  it  would  be  better  if  he  were 
not  to  think,  as  well." 

Harding  left  the  club  with  a  strange  conviction  of 
the  unreality  of  everything.  He  was  like  a  man 
under  the  influence  of  some  powerful  drug  that 
takes  all  substance  from  the  surrounding  world.  The 
long,  almost  unearthly  battle  for  Agatha's  soul,  cul- 
minating in  his  triumph  and  the  winning  of  her 
heart  as  well,  together  with  the  tragedy  he  had  just 
witnessed,  was  too  heavy  a  burden  for  his  emotions. 
As  he  paced  slowly  along  to  his  lodgings  every  sound 
in  the  streets — the  whirr  of  cars,  the  rattle  of  be- 
lated carriages,  the  boisterous  laughter  of  revelers 
— all  seemed  to  reiterate  in  varied  measure : 

"  Vengeance  is  mine;  I  will  repay,  saith  the 
Lord." 

366 


A  DEBT  IS  PAID 


Agatha  heard  of  the  terrible  visitation  upon  Ham- 
ilton with  a  horror  in  which,  Harding  was  thankful 
to  see,  was  also  pity.  The  retribution  that  had  over- 
taken him  was  so  terrible  in  comparison  with  her 
own  puny  scheme  of  revenge  that,  as  in  the  case  of 
Mrs.  Worth-Courtleigh,  she  felt  how  weak  were 
human  plans  of  vengeance  by  the  side  of  the  awful 
decrees  of  fate. 

In  a  short  time  the  disposal  cf  all  of  Agatha's 
stock  ventures  was  arranged.  A  new  and  conserva- 
tive element  was  put  in  control  of  "  United  Mines," 
and  the  "  corner "  in  the  smaller  companies,  so 
cleverly  planned  by  Atherton,  was  never  accom- 
plished. That  wily  financier,  learning  how  she  had 
outwitted  him  in  the  deal,  admired  the  Countess 
more  than  ever.  But,  on  coming  up  to  the  brown- 
stone  house  to  express  that  admiration  and  inci- 
dentally ask  for  her  hand,  he  had  received  a  curt 
dismissal  and  the  assurance  that  their  business 
relations  were  at  an  end.  This  he  accepted  with  his 
usual  stolidity,  although  he  was  bitterly  disap- 
pointed. Those  who  knew  him  well  found  him 
nervously  irritable  for  a  few  days.  Then  it  was 
over;  he  had  simply  lost  another  coup. 

No  slave  ever  released  from  bondage  was  more 
glad  than  was  Agatha  in  handing  over  to  Harding 
the  complete  management  of  her  business  affairs. 
She  was  tired  of  struggling,  happy  to  have  some- 
one to  act  for  her.  So  he  arranged  that  all  her 
holdings  should  be  sold  gradually  and  profitably. 

367 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


A  large  sum  of  money  was  realized,  but  sh«  did  not 
wish  to  touch  a  penny  of  it.  After  much  pleasant 
planning  they  decided  to  use  it  for  the  endowment 
of  a  hospital  where  curious  and  extreme  cases  of 
suffering  could  be  treated.  Harding  knew  that  the 
need  for  hospitals  is  never  fully  met,  and  the  institu- 
tion that  he  proposed,  and  to  the  conducting  of  which 
he  decided  to  devote  a  part  of  his  future  career, 
should  minister  to  those  poor  sufferers  whose  mis- 
fortunes were  likely  to  take  them  from  hospital  to 
almshouse. 

In  due  time  the  "  Sarah  Copeland  Hospital  "  was 
built  upon  the  beautiful  banks  of  the  Hudson  above 
the  city.  The  first  ambulance  to  enter  its  gateway, 
after  the  building  was  in  readiness  for  the  reception 
of  patients,  brought  to  the  home  of  mercy  the  nerve- 
less body  of  Guy  Hamilton,  whose  ever-busy  brain 
found  perpetual  food  for  wonder  at  the  sweetness 
and  nobility  of  a  charity  that  could  pardoif.*he  evil 
that  he  had  done. 


368 


CHAPTER  XL 

INTO   SAFE   HARBOR 

THE  glow  of  a  fair  June  sunset  was  fading 
into  the  shadows  of  night  as  a  little  group 
of  men  and  women  paced  slowly  up  and 
down  the  platform  of  the  Old  Chetford  railroad 
station,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  evening  train. 
One  of  their  number,  a  sturdy,  well-made  man,  was 
distinguished  from  the  rest  by  a  faster  tread  and  a 
more  nervous  manner.  He  consulted  his  watch  fre- 
quently, and  at  last  walked  to  the  little  grated  win- 
dow behind  which  sat  the  telegraph  operator. 

"  Is  the  train  on  time,  Harkins  ?  "  he  asked  of  the 
thin-faced  young  man  who  was  busily  writing  an 
in-coming  message. 

"  To  a  dot,  Mr.  Harding.  She  ought  to  be  here 
in  thirty-five  seconds.  There  she  whistles  now." 

Harding  looked  toward  the  north.  Far  up  the 
track  was  the  faint  gleam  of  the  locomotive  head- 
light, like  a  pale  star  of  evening.  To  him  it  was  a 
star,  a  star  of  hope  and  love  and  happiness,  for  be- 
hind it  was  his  dearest  possession,  the  sweetest  thing 
the  world  held.  What  if  she  should  not  come! 
His  heart  chilled  at  the  mere  anticipation  of  that 
most  depressing  of  all  experiences — to  await  the  ar- 
rival of  SL  loved  one  who  does  not  appear. 

369 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


But  now  the  train  was  at  his  side,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment down  stepped  Agatha  to  greet  him,  smiling, 
happy  and  beautiful.  As  he  clasped  both  her  hands 
passionately  in  his,  he  was  sure  that  no  such  queen 
of  women  had  ever  come  to  Old  Chetford  before. 
And  come  to  him!  He  could  have  cried  aloud  for 
joy.  He  wondered  why  all  the  others  in  the  station 
did  not  insist  on  knowing  his  right  to  this  vision  of 
loveliness,  this  highbred  lady  who  was  so  glad  to 
see  him.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  rest  were  too  busy 
welcoming  their  own  special  arrivals  to  pay  much 
attention  to  him  and  his.  Only  a  few  noticed  the 
pretty  woman  whose  hands  the  minister  seemed  un- 
willing to  relinquish,  and  not  one  of  them  dreamed 
of  connecting  her  with  Agatha  Renier. 

As  they  rolled  along  in  the  ponderous  "  hack  " 
Harding  had  engaged,  they  had  time  for  a  more  in- 
timate greeting,  not  of  words  but  deeds.  That 
having  been  accomplished  to  Harding's  satisfaction 
and  Agatha's  rather  rueful  examination  of  her 
pretty  hair,  they  talked  of  their  coming  marriage 
and  their  home. 

"  Is  everything  settled  in  the  old  house,  dear  ?  " 
she  asked. 

"  Perfectly.  Mrs.  Brown  is  a  treasure,  as  I  had 
reason  to  know  years  ago.  And  best  of  all  Worth- 
Courtleigh  bid  in  a  great  deal  of  the  Copeland  fur- 
niture, and  I  have  got  it  back  again.  And  you? 
Did  your  breaking  up  go  smoothly  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  transferred  the  lease  without  a 
hitch,  and  salved  the  pain  of  the  servants  with  good, 
round  gratuities.  They  went  away  almost  happy, 

3/0 


INTO  SAFE  HARBOR 


all  except  Pierre;  do  you  know,  Ralph,  I  actually 
think  I  caught  him  crying." 

"Don't  blame  him,  sweetheart.  I  should  do  the 
same  if  I  had  to  part  with  you." 

"Silly  fellow!  As  if  you  ever  would.  N-o-o-o, 
dearest,  no;  my  hat  remember." 

As  they  rode  along  to  the  southward,  Agatha  was 
too  happy  and  too  preoccupied  to  note  the  direction 
of  their  journey.  It  was  not  until  the  driver  stopped 
and  opened  the  creaking  carriage  door  that  she  real- 
ized that  the  "Hill"  had  not  been  their  destination. 
She  caught  the  faint  fragrance  of  the  salt  air  as  she 
stepped  out  upon  planking  that  had  a  familiar  ring, 
and,  looking  through  the  gathering  gloom,  she  per- 
ceived the  outline  of  a  wharf.  There,  at  its  left, 
lay  the  dark  hulk  of  a  ship. 

"The  'Harpoon,' "  she  cried  gaily,  clapping  her 
hands  with  delight.  "Then  it's  not  broken  up." 
And  she  gave  her  lover's  arm  an  impetuous  squeeze 
that  he  thought  would  have  been  full  payment  for 
five  times  five  years  of  anxiety,  and  which  made  the 
fat  and  ruddy  face  of  the  "hack"  driver  curl  into 
one  tremendous  smile  which  he  tried  in  vain  to  hide. 
That  smile  became  a  fixture  for  the  evening  when  he 
saw  that  the  bill,  which  Harding,  with  exuberant 
force,  pressed  into  his  hand,  bore  the  potent  "X" 
in  its  corner.  He  received  his  orders  to  wait  until 
he  was  wanted  again  with  the  utmost  composure. 

"So  you  brought  me  to  see  it,"  said  Agatha  ten- 
derly, "and  couldn't  even  wait  till  daylight.  The 
dear  old  'Harpoon.'  Poor  grandfather!" 

But  sorrow  could  not  linger  at  such  a  time,  and 

371 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


her  voice  rang  forth  again  with  an  infectious  hearti- 
ness that  warmed  Harding's  heart: 

"  But  what  are  those  lights  ?  "  She  raised  her 
veil.  "  And  who  are  those  people?  " 

"  Come  and  see." 

Harding  drew  her  arm  through  his,  and  they 
quickly  walked  down  the  wharf.  Suddenly  a  vocif- 
erous cheer  sounded  on  the  soft  night  air. 

"  Why,  it's  Captain  Sykes  and  Artemas  and  Hank 
and — and — " 

Stealing  a  sidelong  glance  at  the  woman  by  his 
side,  Harding  saw  that  her  eyes  were  filled  with 
tears,  the  tears  of  memory  and  of  happy  home-com- 
ing. For  that  tender  mist  he  loved  her  more  than 
evei . 

As  they  neared  the  staunch  old  "  Harpoon's " 
side,  the  cheering  from  the  deck  was  redoubled,  and 
'  hats  were  swung  into  the  air.  Agatha  now  made 
out  James  Anderson  and  Tilly  Donelson  and  a  dark- 
•eyed,  curly-haired  girl  whose  face  suggested  remem- 
brance but  not  present  recognition.  Then  there 
were  some  of  her  old-time  mill  friends,  and — could 
it  be?  Yes,  it  surely  was  Nelly  Nevins  with  a  big, 
"broad-shouldered  young  man  who  seemed  to  take  a 
peculiarly  affectionate  interest  in  all  that  apper- 
tained to  her,  and  smiled  whenever  she  did.  For 
Nelly  Nevins  was  "  Nevins  "  no  longer,  but  a  ma- 
tron of  nearly  a  year's  experience  who  deemed  her- 
self thoroughly  fitted  to  bestow  advice  on  the  allur- 
ing subject  of  matrimony. 

"  Oh  dear,"  sighed  Agatha  happily,  with  a  gentle 
372 


INTO  SAFE  HARBOR 


pressure  of  Harding's  arm,  "  isn't  it  delightful  to 
be  welcomed  by  hearts  that  really  love  you?  " 

For  answer  there  was  another  resounding  cheer, 
with  shouts  of  "  Hooroar  fer  Miss  Aggy,"  after 
which  the  Three  Musketeers  of  Tuckerman's  wharf 
stepped  from  the  ranks  by  virtue  of  seniority  and 
"  guardeenship,"  and  hurried  forward  to  embrace 
the  lovely  woman  who  was,  and  ever  would  be,  to 
them  a  petted  child.  With  smiles  and  tears  she  re- 
turned in  kind  the  greeting  of  these  loyal  souls. 

"  An'  now,  Miss  Aggy,"  bellowed  Sykes,  evi- 
dently on  the  point  of  bursting  with  some  tremen- 
dous secret,  "  do  ye  see  anythin'  unusual,  an',  ye 
might  say,  extra-ord'nary  around  here.  Do  ye,  or 
don't  ye?  Come  now." 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course,  Captain.  All  this  crowd, 
the  lights—" 

"The  lights!  Ho,  ho,  ho,"  shouted  Sykes,  his 
rotund  figure  shaken  with  laughter,  "  that's  jest  a 
fact,  the  lights.  But  what's  the  lights  around,  Miss 
Aggy?  I  arsks  yer  that." 

Then  did  Agatha,  at  Harding's  prompting,  look 
up  at  the  blaze  of  lanterns  which  surrounded  a 
framework  over  the  gang-plank  of  the  ship.  And 
there,  within  the  gaily  illuminated  rectangle,  she 
read,  in  bright  gilt  letters : — 


STEWART  MUSEUM  OF  THE  SEA. 


373 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


"  O-ooh !  "  gasped  Agatha  delightedly,  "  how 
splendid!  But  who — what — I  don't  quite  under- 
stand." 

"  Your  wedding  gift  to  the  people  you  love,  dear/' 
whispered  Harding. 

"  But  I  thought  the  '  Harpoon  '  was  sold  when — " 

"  It  undoubtedly  was,  and  I  bought  it.  I  have 
kept  it  all  these  years,  and,  with  the  help  of  some 
good  people,  I  have  made  of  it  what  you  see." 

"  *  Hank  Donelson,  Custodian/  at  your  werry  best 
sarvice,  Miss  Aggy,"  said  the  little  tar  who  owned 
the  name,  and  who  now  rejoiced  in  a  marvelous 
suit  of  blue  broadcloth  trimmed  with  gold  braid,  as 
well  as  a  jaunty  cap  bearing  the  title  of  his  exalted 
office.  "  Hours  from  ten  to  four  but  don't  ye 
mind  that,  'cause  ye  knows  as  how  ye're  welcome  at 
whatsomever  time  ye  wants  ter  light  up  the  ol'  ship 
with  yer  pooty  face/' 

"  Thank  you,  Hank,"  returned  Agatha  with  a 
laugh.  "  I  assure  you  that  I  appreciate  the  special 
privilege.  I  shall  not  abuse  it." 

Then  they  went  aboard,  and  Agatha  kissed  Nelly, 
who  had  been  "  Nevins,"  and  shook  hands  cordially 
with  all  the  others  who  were  good  to  her  in  the  old 
days.  Among  the  last  to  approach  was  the  dark- 
eyed  girl  whose  face  had  seemed  familiar. 

"  How  do  you  do,  ma'am  ?  "  she  said  somewhat 
timidly,  "  I  don't  believe  you  know  me,  do  you?  " 

Agatha  looked  at  the  pale,  pretty  face,  and  some- 
thing stirred  in  her  memory;  but  still  recognition 
refused  to  come. 

"  No,    you    don't,"    continued    the    girl,    "  how 

374 


INTO  SAFE  HARBOR 


should  you  ?  But  do  you  remember  the  '  little 
mite ' — that's  what  you  called  me — who  got  in  your 
way  in  the  St.  Agnes  vestry  one  evening  long  ago  ?  " 

"  Ah,  yes;  and  she  wanted  to  give  me  her  toys, 
the  warm-hearted  little  thing.  Your  name  is — " 

"Susy;    Susy  Brent." 

"  And  are  you  still  in  the  mill  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear,  no,  ma'am.  I've  been  to  school  al- 
most ever  since,  and  now  I'm  a  typewriter  in  the 
counting-room.  Ma  says  I'm  too  nice  for  her  any 
more,  and  I  guess  I  am,  'cause  she  drinks  pretty 
bad  nowadays.  I'm  going  to  be  somebody." 

"  I'm  sure  you  are,  Susy,"  returned  Agatha 
kindly,  "  and  you  may  count  on  me  to  help  you." 

Then  came  Tilly,  her  angular  face  lighted  with 
real  pleasure,  and  her  thin  hand  working  Agatha's 
plump  one  as  if  it  had  been  a  pump-handle. 

"  Wall,  Aggy  Renier,  ef  ye  ain't  jest  a  splendid 
critter,  then  I  never  see  one.  I  knew  ye'd  come 
back  some  day  an'  show  'em.  But  air  ye  jest  as  full 
o'  them  foolish  notions  o'  love  as  ever  ?  " 

"  You  must  ask  Ra — Mr.  Harding  about  that," 
said  the  girl,  blushing  divinely.  And  he,  catching 
the  look  in  her  eyes,  vowed  that  all  his  previous  hap- 
piness was  as  nothing  compared  with  the  bliss  of  this 
moment. 

Then  they  made  their  triumphal  progress  down 
the  companionway  to  the  cabin,  where  another  sur- 
prise was  in  readiness.  The  bunks  had  been  re- 
moved, and  in  their  place  were  handsome  cases  filled 
with  shells,  corals,  marine  plants  and  a  thousand 
rare  and  beautiful  treasures  of  the  ocean.  In  the 

375 


MISS  PETTICOATS 


center,  where,  around  the  long  table,  the  old  salts 
had  once  made  merry,  was  a  great  aquarium,  in 
which  swam  many  curious  fishes  and  amphibians. 
The  old  place  was  brilliant  with  new  lights  and 
handsome  with  appropriate  decorations.  And  there 
in  the  rear  was  Agatha's  little  cabin,  looking  just  as 
it  did  when  she  had  left  it  years  ago  for  a  grander 
but  not  a  happier  abiding-place.  Only,  over  the 
door,  worked  out  in  lustrous  little  sea-shells,  was  the 
legend  "  MISS  PETTICOATS/''  She  learned  afterward 
that  it  was  the  work  of  Hank,  but  why  he  had  placed 
it  there  she  could  never  find  out.  He  would  only 
say  that  he  "  kinder  wanted  it  'round." 

The  rushing  in  of  old  emotions,  old  memories,  un- 
steadied  the  girl  for  the  moment.  The  vision  of  the 
gentle  sailor  who  had  loved  her  as  the  core  of  his 
own  heart  filled  her  with  tender  melancholy.  The 
ship  whispered  of  his  dear  presence,  and  she  could 
almost  feel  his  blessing  descending  in  this  hour  of 
her  supreme  happiness.  For  she  was  happy;  the 
dreamy  tinge  of  sadness,  the  half-suggested  ache  01 
regret,  only  intensified  her  present  peace  and  joy. 

In  that  hallowed  spot  they  were  married.  To 
Agatha  it  seemed  neither  a  strange  nor  an  unusual 
thing  when  Harding  brought  forward  a  self-evident 
clergyman,  whom  he  introduced  as  a  college  class- 
mate who  had  come  from  a  far-distant  city  to  per- 
form their  marriage  ceremony.  Indeed,  she  would 
not  have  had  it  otherwise,  for  here  every  associa- 
tion was  of  purity  and  honor  and  truth,  and  those 
who  surrounded  her  and  wished  her  every  joy  in 
life  were  of  the  tested  metal  that  makes  humanity's 
armor  strong. 

376 


INTO  SAFE  HARBOR 


Captain  Sykes,  resplendent  in  a  new  "  frock-suit," 
gave  Agatha  away  with  an  impressive  air  that  ex- 
cited the  envy  of  his  two  associates.  But  they,  in 
turn,  had  their  revenge  by  being  the  first  to  kiss 
the  bride.  Then,  when  the  storm  of  hearty  con- 
gratulations was  over,  and  good-nights  said,  they  all 
united  in  throwing  such  immense  quantities  of  rice 
and  so  many  pairs  of  formidable  boots  after  the  car- 
riage that  the  fat  driver  whipped  up  his  sleepy  horses 
to  escape  the  storm.  Thus  the  wedded  pair  rode 
away  into  their  new  world,  the  grace  and  tenderness 
of  the  woman  resting  within  the  strength  and  loyalty 
of  the  man. 

After  the  guests  had  gone,  Hank  went  slowly 
around  the  ship  putting  out  the  lights  and  tidying 
up.  There  was  no  sound  save  the  gentle  lapping 
of  the  water  against  the  "  Harpoon's  "  sides,  and 
no  light  nearer  than  that  of  the  island  beacon  in  the 
harbor.  The  brooding  calm  of  the  summer  night 
enfolded  the  sailor  in  its  soft  anus,  and  he  moved  as 
in  a  dream.  At  last  he  found  himself  before  the 
door  of  the  spotless  little  cabin  that  was  once  Agatha 
Renier's.  He  looked  long  and  lovingly  at  an  old- 
time  photograph  of  the  girl  that  he  had  fastened 
upon  the  wall.  Then  his  odd  little  smile  illumined 
his  face. 

"  Good-night,  and  God  love  ye,  dear  little  gal,"  he 
said.  ]i  Ye've  had  a  stormy  v'yge  an'  come  nigh  ter 
shipwreck,  but  thanks  be  ter  the  great  Pilot  ye' re  in 
a  safe  harbor  at  last." 


THE   END 

377 


Hope  Hathaway 


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